Life in Reverse
by Min Daae
Summary: Home is where you make it. Or, the AU where Loki falls to Earth after Thor, wanders around trying to work out what to do with himself, and somehow ends up working for SHIELD. Mostly because supervillains are so plebian.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

When Loki got back from his daily walk, there was someone in his flat.

Again.

Loki opened the door slowly, gathering himself to defend or attack if necessary, and ended up simply staring at the human, quite unremarkable in appearance (that already made him different from the others), sitting at the desk and drinking a cup of _his _tea. "Luke's the name you're going by?" he said, setting down the cup and standing up. "Hello. I'm Agent Phil Coulson. I thought maybe it was time we had a real talk. You're a hard man to get in touch with."

It would be quite easy, Loki mused, to rip out this _Agent's _throat with his bare hands. He did not think that his landlady would approve, though, and he had become a touch fond of the old woman. He stayed where he was.

"I do not take kindly to intruders," he informed his guest. The Agent half smiled.

"You can talk to your landlady. She let me in. Good woman. Said you were a – 'nice young man.'"

Loki revised his affection of Ms. Fairfax downwards very slightly. He was _certain _he had had words with her, after last time. "Are you here for a reason," he said, with deliberate politeness, "or may I escort you out?" Preferably, he let his tone imply, out a window.

"Well," said Agent Phil Coulson. "We've been trying to talk to you for months."

_Ah, _Loki thought, so it _is _another one. Though this one, at least, seemed slightly different from the others. Months, as well, that helped. "Is _that _what the clumsy attempts at kidnapping were for?"

Coulson looked unapologetic. "Well, actually, yes. We're very curious, and you seemed like an interesting person."

"I'm a student," Loki said, blandly. "Studying abroad for the semester. If you'd let me fetch you my ID-"

"Yes," said Coulson, "that's the interesting bit, isn't it? You've got a full set of records, but if one were to do a little digging, one would find that they didn't exist seven months ago. And eight months ago, there's a call on record of a man falling out of the sky, only to vanish from a hospital the next day. Isn't that interesting?"

Loki tensed. "Oh," he said, "very," and reached for his magic.

"Oh," Coulson added, "right, I should say. I start acting funny or anything happens to me and I've got a sniper with a gun full of elephant tranquilizers." The little man sat down again, perfectly unruffled. "Tea?"

Loki took a breath through his nose, let it out, and smoothly settled on another chair. Causing a ruckus was just what he wanted to avoid, and flinging this man through one of the walls would undoubtedly cause a ruckus. "Yes," he said with a smile only slightly barbed. "Please."

He watched this _Agent Coulson _pour another cup of tea and took it gracefully, tested it briefly for any kind of poison, and found none. He sipped at it and waited as his intruder watched him with placidity that Loki suspected was of dubious truth.

"What should I call you?" Coulson said, finally, and Loki flashed a toothy grin at him.

"Luke will do. Mr. Silver, if you must."

He expected an objection, but Coulson simply nodded. "All right, Mr. Silver, then. I'm here representing an organization called SHIELD that is…interested in extraordinary talents."

Loki tilted his head slightly to the side. "Extraordinary talents?" He said, and it was little challenge to sound faintly puzzled.

"Like," said Coulson, with an air of patience that was just begging to be tested, "the ability to get a trained doctor to let you walk out of a hospital room no questions asked. Or, say, to fabricate a pretty good identity out of thin air. Or getting two trained agents to spill their guts about their mission goals."

Loki's fingers twitched. "And what would your organization do with such…extraordinary talents?"

Coulson leaned back. "That information's largely classified. As is, I can only tell you that it's a…project. Of sorts."

"You would tell me if I asked you," Loki said, mildly, steepling his fingers under his chin, and watched the first slight tension appear in the man across from him.

"I might," he agreed, after a moment. "But that would probably qualify as me acting strangely and cue the tranquilizer, and I don't think either of us really wants to deal with that." Loki sat back and had another sip of his tea, held it in his mouth a moment before swallowing.

"And what makes you think I'd be interested?" Loki said, half closing his eyes. "Perhaps I am here as a prospective conqueror."

"A possibility," Coulson said, "except that after the last few fiascos, we've been watching for a little while. We're not the only ones to track you down, are we? I counted three minor league hostiles looking to step things up approaching you in the past three months. Only to mysteriously cease all activity shortly afterwards. –oh, except one," here the man paused to refer to a pad of paper he pulled from a pocket, "'Javier Holzinger' who just disappeared."

Loki had been perfecting an expression of perfect innocence for many mortal lifespans. "Five," he corrected mildly. "There have been five. And every one seems so certain that they must be the exception. You make a rather large assumption; perhaps I merely wish to be left to myself." He remembered Javier. Particularly determined, particularly persistent, and particularly prone to referring to Mrs. Fairfax's granddaughter Angela as a 'brat' in his hearing. Loki was even more fond of Angela than he was of her grandmother.

Loki did _so _hope he was enjoying Muspellheim.

"Five," said Coulson, sounding surprised. "How did we miss…ah, never mind. To answer your question – I think," he said, and fixed Loki with a look that was surprisingly shrewd, "wherever you came from originally – and I don't really think that was here – maybe you've gotten a little bit attached to this place. You wouldn't make such a point of turning their heads around – so to speak – if you weren't a little annoyed by their schemes."

"And you assume I am not annoyed by yours?"

"You haven't thrown me out of a window yet," Coulson said calmly, "and I don't think that's for lack of ability. So I think maybe you're at least a little interested."

"Interested in?"

"Again, classified. But I can tell you that it'd be a chance to use your unique abilities in a way you won't get to otherwise."

"Hmm. How intriguing." Loki set down his tea and crossed his legs, ankle on the opposite knee. "What are you offering, then? –whatever you can tell me, that is."

"Simply enough," Coulson said, and his eyes locked on Loki's, "an alternative. Other employment than these people who keep seeking you out."

"You thought the attempted kidnapping would be persuasive?"

"As you can see," Coulson said, still unabashed, and Loki did have to respect someone who could manage quite that degree of placidity, "we determined other measures might be more effective."

"You might have tried that first," Loki pointed out mildly.

"A disadvantage of working in covert operations," said his visitor. "The straightforward is not always the first thing to occur to us."

That was…true enough. And thus far, at least, this one was managing to be somewhat more polite than the others. And somewhat more interesting. Less…irritatingly petty. Nonetheless… "And if I were interested? What would you tell me next?" Loki asked, watching closely, and noticed the man's expression brighten, very, very slightly.

"I'd ask you to come with me someplace a little more private to talk a few things over." Loki cupped his tea between two hands.

"Ah," he said. And smiled, very slightly. "No, thank you. I do not believe I _am _interested." He blew on the surface of his tea. "You may see yourself out."

The silence, however brief, was just slightly satisfying. He let one corner of his mouth tilt just slightly upwards. He waited, already half able to hear in his mind the indignant outburst, _why not?_ Or perhaps he would jump straight to the signal to attack.

"Well," said the man, and stood up. "It was worth a try." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small card. "Here's a number where you can reach me, if you change your mind about getting involved."

And he left. Loki stood to watch him exit, tensing when he paused at the door, half expecting – he wasn't certain. _Something. _"That's all you have to say for yourself?"

"Somehow," said the man, turning around, "I get the feeling that I don't really want to push you, Mr. Silver. Persistence in my experience isn't always the best policy, as I'm sure the – late? – Mr. Holzinger would agree. My superior won't be happy. But he trusts my judgment." He paused, a moment longer, and then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. "Have a pleasant day," he said, almost brightly, and closed it behind him.

Loki waited, perfectly still, but he did not reappear. After a few moments, he bent down and picked up the card left behind. _Agent Phil Coulson, _it read. No position. No logo. Name, and a number.

After a moment's thought, he tucked it in his pocket.

* * *

**Interlude (I)**

In the moment before he let go, Loki thought, very briefly and wildly, _what if I die? _

It was the answer which occurred to him that loosened his fingers and let him fall. _Yes, _he thought, with a peculiar kind of calm he hadn't had for the past three days. Since Thor had been banished, since cold fingers had wrapped around his forearm and stripped away all of the pretense that had hidden him from the truth like swaddling cloths. _Yes, what if? _And if there was anything there it was a kind of curiosity. _What then?_

There just weren't enough reasons to say no.

So he let his fingers slide free and for a moment didn't even feel himself falling, just watched the shattered Bifrost receding above him and Thor's mouth open to shout something he didn't hear past the roaring in his ears.

And then he _was _falling. Everything was sound and music, howling and wild as the void hooked its claws into him and tore his mind wide open until there was no boundary at all between the universe and himself. Everything pouring through him and he could feel it wearing the edges of him away like a wave against the shore, sapping a little more of him with every rising swell-

It might have been a very long time or no time at all when he slammed back to himself with enough force to crack bone and pulverize something almost certainly vital in his gut, and it took Loki a moment to realize that it was not just him, that he wasn't falling, and that he had landed on something solid and _that _was what had broken him.

He still felt raw, like whatever had forced him back into the hard lines of his body had done so clumsily and all wrong, left him jumbled up and twisted around, his vision a blur and head buzzing. Buzzing? No, voices.

So he wasn't dead. He had fallen through the void and landed in some other realm, spat out and rejected even by oblivion, and wasn't that just-

The pain was nagging at his mind, seeking admittance. He ignored it, pushed it away, tried to focus. If he wasn't dead, he needed to know. Where? Svartalfheim? That would be a fine thing indeed, with all the love between himself and those people. Vanaheim?

"No, I'm not fucking kidding, some guy just fell out of the _sky _can you send a goddamn ambulance?"

The words filtered hazily into his consciousness, and it took him a moment to realize why they sent a chill through him. Human voices. Human language.

He had let go seeking death, and the void had found him unworthy and shat him out into this cesspool of the nine , unworthy, had been sent here to test his mettle. _You always used to follow him as a at his heels. Apparently you have not changed._

"Oh my god." The same voice, evidently not speaking to him. "Oh my god, there's a lot of blood, should I, like-"

_Midgard, _he thought. _It is Midgard. Ah, this _is _a fine jest. A fine, fine jest. _

He started laughing. Started laughing and couldn't stop until the pain opened its jaws and swallowed him whole like a wolf swallowing the sun.


	2. Chapter 2

_Warning for this chapter for Loki going medieval on someone's ass._

* * *

The visit troubled him. Well. Troubled in the loosest sense of the word. Nagged at, perhaps, would be more accurate. The idea of being watched did not sit well with him, and the fact that he could see no signs of any such observation irked Loki still more.

Ms. Fairfax remarked on the downturn in his mood. "I think you're bored," she informed him, confronting him on the stairs on the way back from the grocery. "I know what it looks like. I had a nephew once, got into the most awful habits when he didn't have enough to do. A mind like yours ought to be active, young man."

As always, he had the brief, sharp urge to inform her that he was a great deal older than her, thank you very _much, _and suspected, as always, that it would come out childishly petulant.

He bent to kiss her cheek, instead, knowing how it would make her blush. "You're just trying to get rid of me," he said with a rakish grin that changed to a smirk as he dodged her swat at his shoulder and slid around her and up the stairs.

He didn't like it, but the thought nagged at him just the same that she might be right. That he was stagnating, becoming dull. Living a life pleasant but unremarkable.

_Wasn't that the point? _A small voice in the back of Loki's mind murmured, but he had never been very good at quiet or unremarkable or keeping his intentions to do either. He had been quiet, keeping his head down, and there had been not a sound. No one sent to bring the traitor (the second prince) home. Which was _fine. _

It was. There was nothing he had left to prove, and certainly not to them.

He kept the card in his pocket and pulled it out at quiet moments until the number was burned into his memory. He considered calling out of curiosity if nothing else. His eternal weakness.

Calling would have felt curiously like ceding victory, however, and Loki did not savor that idea in the least. He had had so very few victories of late.

In the end, of course, it wasn't boredom, or curiosity, that decided him.

It was the fact that _some _humans did not know how to leave well enough alone.

"They took Angela," Ms. Fairfax said, her voice shaking slightly. It was an overcast Thursday. The card in his pocket was an overthumbed wreck. Taken quite by surprise as he returned from a walk, Loki blinked at her.

She'd been waiting for him just inside the front door. He set his stack of new books carefully down and turned to her. "I'm sorry?"

"Some men came," she said. Loki glanced at her hands and found them knotted in her skirt and trembling. "They asked to see you. I said you were out and they said they'd wait, but I didn't like the looks of them and I said…they took Angela," she repeated, helplessly, "You know how she is, she was just being a child, just saying…I don't understand, Luke, who are they, what do they want?"

"Margaret," Loki said, using her given name with perfectly deliberate emphasis. "Tell me. Did they leave a way to get in touch?" Always, he thought, a slow, bitter burn starting in his stomach, always before, they had ignored this little woman who let him live here and did not bat an eye at his oddities. Always they had found her beneath their notice.

Ms. Fairfax looked up at him, wide-eyed. "An address," she said, just as Loki thought she had forgotten the question. "They left a phone number, but Luke, tell me what's-"

"Tell me the number."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, and even in the midst of her panic managed to look worried. "Luke, these aren't…are you in trouble?"

"No," said Loki, and smiled, just a little. "Though they might be." Ms. Fairfax fidgeted nervously.

"They told me not to call the police," she said, in a smaller voice. "That they'd kill Angela if I did."

Loki took a step forward to close the distance between them and reached out to take her face gently between his hands. "Listen," he said, slowly, clearly, and letting just the slightest bit of power ease into his words, to urge them home, "Go upstairs. To my quarters. Make yourself a cup of tea. And wait. Angela and I will return before you have the chance to get bored. All will be well. Now." He met her eyes. "The number."

Loki waited until Ms. Fairfax had wandered half in a daze up the stairs to call. The moment he heard the connection made, he said sweetly, "I heard you were looking for me?"

"You heard right," said the voice on the other end, after a moment. Rough-edged, common. "We'd make it worth your while."

"Of course," Loki said pleasantly. "Happily. Where may we meet and discuss the terms?"

The man hesitated, but only a moment. Clearly he had expected as much. As had all the others. They all seemed to find it unthinkable that he would be less than entirely intrigued by their offers. He rattled off an address. "…now?"

"That would suit me, yes. Ah, one more thing," Loki added. "You wouldn't happen to have – _borrowed _a young girl while you were looking for me, would you?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the man said, "Yes, we-"

"Good," Loki cut off. "Have her with you. A troublesome child, but one I have intentions for." He let his tone sikily imply any range of unpleasantness, right hand working open and closed with the urge to clamp around flesh. "Understood?"

"Yes," the voice on the other end said, after a moment's hesitation, "I'll see to it," and Loki was briefly, viciously pleased. He sounded surprised. And faintly worried. Good; let him be. They all should be. All of these-

"I am pleased to be served with such alacrity," Loki said, voice clear and precise, and cut off the connection. He took a few slow, deep breaths and tucked the phone away, trying to stay calm through the cold, vicious fury that was threatening to boil up his throat.

It was not far, so he walked.

Took advantage of the time to cool his temper to a low perhaps a slow boil.

Under the anger, though, there was a slight nagging feeling of guilt. _They would never have come, _he thought, _if you weren't there to draw followed you, as it always does, into these little peoples' lives. Is that what you wanted? _

He lengthened his stride. _And if they have harmed her, that will be yours as well. _Big, bright eyes glazed over with death, small hands spattered with blood-

Loki caught his snarl in his throat and stopped across the street from the building he'd been sent to. He stared at it for a moment before crossing the street and knocking lightly on the door. His more intelligent self informed him dryly that he probably ought to have a plan. The rest of him was not terribly interested.

He'd always been a good improviser.

The door opened, and someone peered out at him. Loki smiled pleasantly. "I believe I am expected?" He said, putting just a touch of regal impatience in his voice. The door opened immediately the rest of the way. The man standing there was quite a bit shorter than himself, Loki observed, and attired in a truly unfortunate combination of colors. Loki did not think he would ever understand the human tendency toward the garish.

"That was prompt," the man said, sounding decidedly pleased. "I was expecting more trouble. You've got a reputation for avoiding partnerships."

"Have I?" Loki asked, innocently. A reputation. All his effort, and word was still spreading, and yet apparently still failing utterly to deter the persistently irritating. That was…displeasing. "Ah, well. One begins to grow bored."

"Of course, of course. Well, I must say that I am _very _pleased to have you assistance in this…"

I do not care, Loki felt the urge to say, about your petty plans. Your small desires. I have no interest in your sneak thieving and little power struggles. Time was-

_Focus. _He tried his best to look interested, and fell into step beside this masked man, who was nearly swaggering with too-obvious pleasure. Tuned out the man's voice to nod and murmur agreement at appropriate moments – a skill he had perfected long ago – and surveyed his surroundings. He could see no sign of Angela. Any number of inconspicuously dressed minions were standing by, dully incurious.

"So you see," he heard, from some distanct corner of his mind still paying this insect heed as the man opened the door into a new chamber, "We could use-"

It took him a moment to place the sound he could hear just dimly from the other side of the room. Angela, he thought. She was…

She was crying. A hiccuping, sniffling noise that was trying very hard to be quiet.

His mind went very cold and very still and very quiet. And excruciatingly, wonderfully clear, as it always did when the pieces of some large puzzle fell perfectly into place. Loki stopped and turned toward it, took a slow breath through his nose.

"Is that," he asked mildly, "The girl I spoke to you about?"

"What? Oh," he said. "Yeah, guess so, could somebody shut her up?"

He pictured wide brown eyes looking up at him without fear. Her keen inquisitiveness. The bright, simple way she smiled to see him. Demanding stories, to be held, that he make her laugh.

"Angela," he said, raising his voice, "Close your eyes and cover your ears."

Silence fell, total and complete. A sniff, and then, though he still couldn't see her, a familiar voice: "Mr. Luke?"

"Hold on," said the masked man beside him. "What's-"

"Yes," said Loki, ignoring him. "It's me. Mr. Luke. Angela, I want you to close your eyes and cover your ears. Please."

The man whose lack of a name would not be a trouble for much longer grabbed Loki's arm. "I need an explanation right now," he said, and Loki did not look at him. Deliberately.

"Do not," he said steadily. "Lay hands on me without my permission. Or you will no longer possess a hand." The man let go, Loki was almost sure before he realized that he had done so, because a moment later he could almost hear him bristle and draw himself up. He hoped, dearly hoped, that Angela was neither listening nor watching.

"What," said the masked man, or snarled, still so sure of himself, "Do you think you're-"

Loki turned and tethered him with one hand, forefinger and thumb of the other hand pressing against his eyes until they popped like peeled grapes and the man, this pathetic little mortal, broke off into a scream. "I thought," Loki said, and his voice sounded too calm to his own ears, "I had made my lack of _interest _in this sort of thing _clear._" He pulled back his hand and smeared clear fluid down the man's cheeks like tears, took a moment to watch him weep blood, and called on his magic. "I do not want to work with you. I will never want to work for you. And I do _not _take kindly to those who attack _children._"

The gurgle he made as every internal organ imploded at once was somewhat satisfying.

The others took a step back.

Loki grinned at them in a fashion that owed more to sharks than to men. "I would so dearly love to devise a suitable chastisement for each and every one of you," he said, deliberately cheerfully, "But I'm afraid I simply haven't the time."

One thing he could say for this wretched lot of humans. At least they died trying. To run, most of them.

~.~

He picked his way through the remnants and found Angela blood-spattered and cowering in a corner. She looked at him with terror and tried to back away further. Loki reached out and touched her temple, lightly urging Angela into unconsciousness, and forgetfulness. Just enough to soften the edges. Then he picked her up.

"Hush," he said, feeling a peculiar kind of pang. "You will be all right now."

She whimpered, disbelievingly, before sliding the rest of the way into sleep.

The blood, he thought dully, would want explaining. Likely he could not remain here, even if Ms. Fairfax would accept it. He almost wished…

But no, not really. He didn't regret killing them. Only regretted Angela's fear. He had been peculiarly fond of her. And did not like the fact that that was in the past tense.

He deposited the sleeping Angela in her grandmother's room and returned to his own flat, where Ms. Fairfax bounded to her feet the moment he opened the door. "She's back," he said, evenly. "Sleeping. In her bed."

"Oh, thank god," she said, and rushed forward. Loki did not get out of the way of her embrace in time, and patted her awkwardly on the back. "Oh, thank…is that blood?" she asked, detaching, and Loki stepped back quickly, covering the evidence with a swift working.

"Go see to her," he said, quietly. "I am…fine. And very sorry for the trouble." She struggled for a moment, but there was no real contest, and she seemed satisfied that her eyes had deceived her.

"As long as you're not hurt," she said, dubiously. "I'll – I'll call the police, I should have before, I just-"

"No," said Loki, firmly. "There's no need for that. It's settled. There was…a misunderstanding." He found an easy smile. "I am unhurt. Angela as well, though frightened. Think on it no more."

He waited for the door to close quietly behind her to let out a slow breath between his teeth. His anger wasn't gone. Burning low, but still there. Undoubtedly some had slipped free, and even if they had not, stories always managed to spread. And yet others would still come. Perhaps more determined. More intentional. Reading his defense as a weakness (correctly, a cynical voice noted from the back of his mind) and exploiting it.

Without thinking, his hand slipped into his pocket and felt over the well worn surface of the card there. He pulled it out and examined it. There was a small rust-colored stain over the A in _Agent. _

_An alternative. _

He rubbed his thumb across the numbers, long-since memorized.

And he called Coulson. "You offered an alternative," he said, crisp and clipped. "If that offer still stands...though I have a few conditions."

* * *

**Interlude (II)**

Loki woke dizzy and with the taste of bile in his mouth from confused, fragmented dreams. For a moment he thought dizzily, _none of it was real. It was all - it was all a dream. A terrible-_

But he knew even before the thought had finished that it was not. Could smell it in the air and feel it in the lingering ache in his body and remember everything with the too-sharp, edged clarity of memory. _Midgard. Someone, somewhere, is laughing. Perhaps enough to make even Heimdall crack a smile. _

He wondered if they would follow him here. Drag him back to Asgard and try him for treason, for attempted fratricide, for patricide, and all the rest. If they would judge it worthwhile, or think him sufficiently beaten down that exile would do. It was not as though he could return. No, no miraculous restoration and healing and forgiveness for Odin's second - false - son.

It was tempting to fade again, let the fog in his mind overcome him and drag him down to a quiet place where he didn't have to think or move or do anything, but Loki had never been very good at surrender. It seemed the Norns did not think much of his attempt at it either.

Loki tested his limbs first, confirmed that they were all functional, and then opened his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting position. He was sitting in a room that was very white and very barren, and as he looked down at himself, he realized that they had taken away his clothes and left him in a loose-fitting robe of unappetizing color. He groaned quietly as something in his gut tore and mended, correctly this time.

He felt a sudden, irrational surge of fear and reached for his magic. Still there, and it flooded through him like warmth. Tapped low, and weak, but still there. Whatever the void had done, it hadn't torn that away from him. Whatever else he did not have (a long list, the hollow space in his chest murmured), that much, he still possessed.

First things first. He had been hiding himself from Heimdall for years when it suited him. It was no trouble to do it now, like pulling a cloak around his shoulders. Perhaps it was too late to disappear, but he could hope that he mattered little enough that they were not actively seeking him, and Heimdall's eyes would pass him by.

Could hope that just this once his invisibility would work in his favor.

"Hello," said a cheerful mortal voice from the door. Loki opened his eyes and looked over. Unremarkable, he assessed, human, and by his bearing not a guard or soldier. "I see you've-"

"What is your name?" He asked, and wrapped the words with a touch of power, suggestion, _you want to answer, it's terribly important. _

"Doctor Frank Kolstein," the man said with barely a blink to register the nudge, and Loki fought the urge to smile. _Weak willed. Easy. _

"Am I imprisoned here?"

"No, but you're," the man started to say, his brow furrowing.

"Then I think," Loki said, putting a bit more force into the suggestion, _accommodate me, you want to, is it really such a trouble? _"You should like to let me leave without question, yes?" Likely, he thought, there was no harm here. Likely there was no risk to remaining. But he did not wish to. There was an itch in him to move stronger than the lassitude that made him want to stay. And perhaps there was some small, bitter part of him, _see, brother, see how easily they bend before us? What did you see in them? What did you see in them that you did not see in _me?

"Oh," said the man –doctor, Midgardian healers, Loki remembered. "Of course." Loki pushed himself to his feet, and focused on keeping them. A sudden dizzy rush to his head left him feeling momentarily like he would fall, but he did not. He started toward the door the man was holding open, and paused when he realized that the breeze down his back was because the robe he was wearing was loosely tied in two places and left him largely unclothed.

"Hm," he said, and looked at the doctor, who was looking at him and waiting attentively for suggestions. Perhaps he had been a little too forceful. "May I borrow your coat?" He asked, after a moment, and the man hastened to shed it. Loki pulled it on, and if the fit was abysmal at the very least it was a covering. He considered the healer and wondered if there were questions he ought to ask.

His mind felt too dull to try. He wanted to be out of this place, with its white glow and its sterile smell. "It might be best," he said, "If you were to rest for a bit. That bed over there looks comfortable, does it not?"

"Sure does," said the healer eagerly. Loki turned to slip out of the room, pulling a shroud of magic around himself that would keep him unnoticed from human eyes as well, at least for a while. Hopefully the rest would remove any lingering effects of his influence from the man.

_Why does it matter? _A murmur, in the back of his mind, as he walked carefully down the hallway. _He doesn't matter. Like you. You don't matter. Isn't that clear yet? What are you going to do with yourself, miserable, pathetic-_

What was he going to do?

It was a good question. Loki made his way through the hallways of what seemed to be a vast building full of healers (humans, Loki reminded himself, breakable and prone to injury, they needed more) and tried to clear his muddled thoughts.

_There is nothing left for you. That's why you let go, wasn't it? _

_That life was only ever a lie anyway, _Loki thought viciously. _Perhaps it's for the best. From here forward, you can build everything for youself. If you are all you have, then let that be enough. It always has been before, has it not?_

Or, more bleakly, _death will not have you. What is there left, but life? _

He stepped out into the sunlight and blinked against its brightness and the sudden wash of unfamiliar sound. The constant, continual chatter of Midgard, its people, its animals, its vehicles. He was swaying on his feet again, still worn, still unbearably tired.

He crossed the street to sit unnoticed on a bench nestled in a small patch of grass. If Thor or Odin marked him here, they would drag him back by the scruff of his neck. That meant blending in. That meant playing at humanity, speaking and living and- Loki glanced down at himself – dressing like one of them. It meant learning them inside and out until his mimicry was perfect.

He had always had a talent for acting.

_You learned young, cuckoo, _said that soft, brutally snide voice. _You were lying with every breath, even then. But now you know. _Loki thought of sitting huddled in the snow pulling stitches from his own lips. _One day, _he thought viciously. _Then another. Then another. You may be a monster, but you are not dead yet. _

_Survive. That's all you need to do. Survive._

The rest would come. It had to.


	3. Chapter 3

He met Agent Phil Coulson for the second time in a coffee shop several streets away from his flat. Ms. Fairfax had been trying to speak to him for the last few days. He could guess easily enough what about, and did not intend to indulge her. He would settle this matter and go where, presumably, he was to be sent.

"I thought I said we would talk someplace more private," Coulson said, as he sat down across from Loki and looked around the bustling shop.

"Oh," said Loki, with a broad smile, "This is. No one in this room will glance at us twice. Anyone attempting to listen will hear a rather dull conversation about farming prospects in the northeast. I find that it is most difficult to get real privacy in quiet places. Besides, I enjoy the coffee here."

Coulson was giving him a hard look. Loki let him stare. A day out and his anger had cooled, leaving him with a few second thoughts and new wariness. Although if he was honest with himself, at this point it was not as though he had much to lose.

Finally, the agent sat back and said mildly, "I wasn't expecting a call from you so soon."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "But you were expecting a call from me?"

"I have good instincts." The man had a bland voice. Level and calm and utterly unremarkable. Loki wondered if this had all been an elaborate orchestration for his benefit, but – no. That bordered on the paranoid. And while that was occasionally justified, in this case he thought probably not.

"Well," said Loki, matching the blandness of Coulson's tone with his own, "I am just full of surprises."

"So it would seem." Coulson leaned forward very slightly. "On the phone you mentioned conditions. You understand I'll have to clear those before telling you any more than I already have about this…project."

"Of course," Loki said. "I think you will find them simple enough. Recently my landlady found herself…rather unfortunately in the midst of an altercation with another person interested in my…services."

"I heard something about a bloodbath the other day. I think the report attributed it to gang violence."

Loki sipped his coffee. "A pity. I am told violence is on the rise." He glanced up. "Or was that a question?"

Coulson stared at him in silence for a while. Loki had endured much worse, and ignored it. Finally, the agent asked," Where were you going with this?"

"You have been watching me. I would ask that you continue to keep an eye on her and ensure that no one gets any ideas. Or that if they do, they are…thoroughly deterred."

"You want protection for them."

Loki wouldn't have put it that way. But he supposed it was accurate enough. "Yes." Coulson nodded.

"That's simple enough. What else?"

Loki took a breath through his nose and let it out. "Only one other. That I be allowed reasonable independence. Your surveillance will cease. I will have some discretion with regards to how I carry out any…instructions I am given. I am not merely a tool and will not be used as such. By anyone." He realized too late that his tone had taken on more vehemence than he'd intended. The echo, perhaps, still in his ears, _another stolen relic. _

Coulson was considering him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Within reason," he said, finally. "There are certain…parameters. As for the surveillance, of course that will be removed."

Loki folded his hands under his chin. "I reserve the right to deal in my fashion with any lingering watchers," he said, and if possible the agent's expression grew even more bland. Loki waited.

"Make yourself available and easy to contact," Coulson said, finally, "And it won't be an issue."

Loki cupped his coffee between his hands, letting himself enjoy the warmth between his palms. "Then it won't be an issue. Those are my conditions."

"That's all?"

"I told you they were simple." He raised his eyebrows at Coulson. "Can you tell me more about this project of yours, now?"

Coulson was silent for several moments. He glanced at the people milling around them in apparent unconcern. Loki was briefly impressed when Coulson looked back at him without further objection. "We are a covert organization working from within the United States on countering…extraordinary threats."

"That's suitably vague."

"We work on a number of fronts," Coulson said, after a bare moment's pause. "Espionage, assassination, defense. Primarily concerned with those threats…beyond the pale of other organizations. You've heard the term metahumans?"

Loki hadn't. It was easy enough to guess, however, what it meant. "I believe so, yes."

"The more metahumans surface, the more…situations we get into having to deal with them. And the more important it gets to have protocols to deal with them effectively."

"And you wish me to have a place in these…protocols."

"Yes, we believe your…talents would be of use."

"And," Loki added, with a thin smile, "You want me somewhere where you can keep an eye on my – as you put it – 'talents.'"

"Yes," said Coulson blandly, and without a trace of embarrassment. "That too." Loki had to admire, just a bit, a mortal who was at least somewhat aware of what Loki was capable of and still managed quite that level of casual…well, plain-faced audacity.

"Ah," said Loki. "I see. I suppose this would be a more effective way to manage that than…previous efforts." He tipped his head back. "May I ask what, precisely, I would be doing for you?"

"That'll depend, somewhat, on what our training determines to be…"

"Let me save you the time," Loki said, smoothly. "Given a face, and some mannerisms, there is no one I cannot impersonate. I have passable skill with most weapons but am best with throwing knives. I have no small amount of experience in negotiation. As you have witnessed, I am also capable at persuasion."

"…that's quite the laundry list."

"Versatility is a virtue." Loki offered Coulson a placid, innocent smile. Coulson looked unconvinced.

"You'll still need to go through an evaluation and assessment before we make any calls."

"I would expect nothing less." The little man eyed him.

"You seem to be taking all of this pretty casually," Coulson observed. Loki considered him for a moment, then leaned back.

"As you have so astutely observed, I am not from here. I did not even, in truth, choose to come here. I am easily bored and have little enough to tether me to this place over any other. Your offer intrigued me, and seemed in my best interests."

"And the best interests of your landlady and her family," the agent added, his gaze curiously shrewd, and Loki fought the urge to frown and simply inclined his head. It seemed to be important to this man. There was a pause. Then the agent asked, "Where are you from?"

"Why, Agent," Loki said smoothly. "You know where I live."

"You fell out of the sky," Coulson persisted. "Where did you fall from?"

_Thor, _Loki thought, and it didn't even hurt to think that name as much as it once had. Or so he could tell himself. _They want to know if – have they guessed? No, they would have no reason to suppose other than coincidence, and surely Thor's Jane will have told them the Bifrost is broken- _"Is it important? I do not have the means to return there."

He was very slightly pleased with how level he managed to keep his voice. At least, he thought, that wound was no longer raw. If still far from healed. "It might be," Coulson said. "If something decided to follow you here, say," and Loki felt a foolish urge to wince. Follow him, as the Destroyer had followed. Not, perhaps, one of his more thought out plans.

It was fortunate they hadn't seen his face, at least.

"Nothing will follow me here," Loki said, with easy and complete sincerity. "As I have not the means to go back, they have not the means to journey here." Not strictly true, either way, but near enough. They wouldn't waste the effort. Not without reason. As long as he stayed hidden there would be no reason.

He intended to stay hidden.

Coulson looked at him for a little longer, but seemed to accept the answer. "There are a few more formalities that need to be taken care of. Not here."

"My affairs are in order. I need only collect a few things from my flat."

Coulson stood. "I can arrange a flight out within a few hours." Loki took his last swallow of coffee and set the cup down, standing as well.

"I expect that to be enough time."

He caught, just for a moment, the first smile he'd seen from this bland-faced man so far. It only lasted a moment, however, and then he was sticking out a hand that Loki accepted in a formal handshake. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Silver."

"Please," said Loki, with a thin smile. "Call me Luke."

~.~

Ms. Fairfax was waiting for him on his couch when he got back.

"That's enough of this nonsense, young man," she said crisply. "I will not have you avoiding me, and I will certainly not have you traipsing off without a goodbye."

Loki blinked at her. Perhaps Angela had said nothing. Or perhaps she had dismissed it as a child's fancy. Either way, he felt a pang of something a little too close akin to guilt. "Ms. Fairfax," he said, after a moment, slowly. "I…hello."

"You are going, aren't you?" she demanded. "Off with that nice man from a couple weeks ago, Phil. I saw him waiting in that car outside."

Loki sighed. "I am," he said, after a moment. "Yes. I will see to it that the money from this month's rent reaches you as soon as possible."

"Oh, pish," said Ms. Fairfax, sounding almost indignant. "I'm not here about the rent. I'm here because you, young man, have been avoiding me!"

Loki felt the urge to wince that he had only had before around, perhaps, one other person in his life. The woman he had called mother for a time. "Ms…Margaret. I meant you no offense. I thought it best…"

"Well," she said, "It wasn't." And frowned at him. Loki resisted the urge to rub at the bridge of his nose in an old nervous gesture.

"I'm afraid," he said, finally, "I have done you a disservice. I have not been entirely honest with you and in so doing, feel I may have brought trouble to your door."

"Is this about you having superpowers? You being one of those…what do they call them – metahumans?" she asked, and Loki blinked in genuine startlement.

"What?"

Ms. Fairfax narrowed her eyes at him. "I may not be so sharp as you, boy, but I notice a thing or two. I've known for a while you weren't exactly usual, but I figured if you didn't want to make a thing of it it was none of my business." She fixed him with a gaze that suddenly seemed more shrewd than it ever had before. "I don't know just who you are, maybe, but I know you brought my Angela back, and I know you used to make her smile brighter than just about anyone else ever did."

Loki felt the unaccountable urge to squirm. "I frightened her," he said, lowly, gaze skating away from hers.

"Yes," Ms. Fairfax said, "You did. And I probably ought to be frightened too. But I don't have much other than her, and I'm just grateful. You're not a bad boy." She stood up. "I think you'll turn out right." Loki could only stare at her, and to his horror felt his eyes begin to sting. "There's a basket of cookies on the counter for you to take with you."

When he needed them most, it seemed, his words chose to desert him. "Thank you," he said, finally, and she nodded.

"Take care, Luke. And don't think you need to be a stranger." She paused, pressed her lips together, and then reached out and embraced him before hurrying out.

Feeling confused and curiously bereft, Loki wandered over to the counter. _Foolish sentiment, _he told himself. _She knows nothing and less of you. _And yet there was a warm feeling tight in his chest. He looked down at the basket and inhaled the smell of cookies wafting from it. There was a piece of paper resting on top.

He unfolded it, after a moment, and found himself looking at a picture clearly drawn by a child. Three scribbled person-like figures, one considerably taller than the other two. A yellow sun shone overhead, and across the bottom was written _me and grandma and Luke. _

Loki tucked the drawing back in the basket, picked it up, and looked around the room that had become a strange kind of home. A strange kind of comfort.

He walked out and closed the door quietly behind him.

* * *

**Interlude (III)**

Clothes, Loki decided, needed to be the first order of business. He could walk unseen like this for a long time, but not forever. And stealing scraps would get tiresome very quickly. He stole what he needed so as not to be conspicuous in his barely serviceable clothing from the place of the healers, and changed in a fitting room. Loki examined himself in the mirror provided once he had donned the set of clothes he'd decided on.

The clothes themselves were…adequate. They did not suit him perfectly, felt strange and uncomfortable, but he would adjust quickly enough, and he had found some with a sleek enough cut to be almost flattering. But there was…

He looked, he thought, sick. There were dark hollows around his eyes and under his cheekbones. There was something haggard in his eyes and too tight around the corners of his mouth. Loki steeled himself to keep from flinching.

_What did you expect? You thought you would die. Of course it took a toll. _

_You don't even look like yourself, _Loki thought with sudden savagery. _You look like a shadow. A shadow of a thing who was a shadow to begin with. Look at you. Pathetic, wretched thing, thieving from crawling mortals who ought to bow before you or at least run screaming from your monstrosity, but they ought to_ see _you and yet walk by-_

Then again. Was that really so unfamiliar?

He could almost taste the bitterness sour on the back of his tongue.

Turning sharply from the mirror, he exited the shop, leaving behind his former garments with no regret. (Wishing he could leave behind other things so easily.) And now to find sanctuary. A place to wait for his power to return and his strength to build while he found his footing in this realm.

He wandered down the street for a while, dropping the magic that kept him unnoticed, and watched the flow of humans moving in their quick, scurrying rush, hastening everywhere and nowhere. Going home, he thought. Back to their little families to embrace their children and rut with their mates.

He didn't even have that much, Loki reminded himself. What he'd thought he had –

Loki wondered if Thor knew yet. If Odin had told him the truth yet. If Thor would nod in sage understanding when he heard, _yes, now I understand, I see why, we could not expect more, he was only ever a monster. _

He could feel himself trembling and stopped walking. Took two, long, deep breaths. Not now, not _here._

He reached out to catch the next person to walk by. "Pardon," he said, "But is there a place of lodging somewhere nearby?" The sideways look they cast him was somewhat baffled. A young woman, Loki registered vaguely, hair pulled back from her face in a style that made him think _Sif _but those spectacles would hardly be practical in battle.

"Uh…you mean a hotel? Yeah, there's a few, there's a Mariott just around the corner if…hey, you okay?" Loki blinked at her, for a moment not comprehending the question. She shifted a little bit – nervously, Loki thought – and half lifted her right hand before dropping it down. "You look a little…uh. Not great."

_Okay, _Loki thought. _Ah. She wishes to know if I am well. That is. Almost amusing. _He stepped away from her, feeling suddenly naked under her worried gaze. "—I am fine. I – thank you. For your assistance, and your trouble," rather than asking why she would inquire after a stranger's well-being. He could feel her watching him walk away.

The place of lodging – hotel, Loki learned – was his next ordeal, but he floated through it easily enough on charm he'd been perfecting since boyhood and some sleight of hand that procured him a card and persuaded their machine to accept it as valid method of payment. The key, the stairs, and he curled up on the bed without changing his clothes.

_The last time I slept, _Loki thought, nose full of the foreign smell of whatever humans used to clean their sheets, _I was a prince of Asgard. Thor was my foolish, arrogant brother. How did everything change so _fast?

He could feel himself starting to shake again, as he had out on the street. This time he didn't try to hold it back, and it seemed like seconds before he was howling, great, ugly wracking sobs tearing out of his throat and heaving through his whole body, until he couldn't breathe. Until there was nothing left in him at all, as empty and hollowed out as he could get save for a cold dark knot at the center of his chest.

It wasn't enough.

He hurt. His body hurt. His soul hurt, all the way through. And he was so _tired. _

One of those things, at least, he might be able to fix.


	4. Chapter 4

On the plane, he was given a folder of information to read that was thick, dense, and nearly as dull as the tome of genealogies he'd once been set to memorize.

Between that and the space that was not quite big enough to stretch his legs, Loki almost regretted not mentioning that he could travel his own way to Washington D.C., their apparent destination, without benefit of artificial wings. But he supposed the information was important, and set to absorbing it.

He looked up while reading through a lengthy explanation of the rather curious position of the organization he was to join in the complex beaureaucratic hierarchy of its country of origin. Agent Coulson had, at some point, sat down across the aisle and was watching him. Doing a passable imitation of not doing so, but Loki knew that trick well enough.

"Something interesting?"

"Everybody gets that packet," Coulson said after a moment. "Most people skim it. A few people don't bother to read it at all. I've never seen anyone go through it page by page."

Loki eyed him for a moment, trying to decide if he was being mocked. The agent's face told him nothing. Finally he said, "Give me twelve hours and I will have the entirety memorized, and repeat it back to you verbatim."

Coulson's expression twitched not tat all. "Useful skill."

Loki gave him a thin smile. "Knowledge is power." He looked down at the folder and tapped it with one finger. "Something I think you know well."

"I try to keep a healthy appreciation for it."

The thought flashed across Loki's mind, wondering if Agent Phil Coulson was ever ruffled. That led to the question of what it would take to cause it, and that to memories of wild schemes attempting to distract the watchman of Asgard-

He yanked his thoughts away. Sometimes it still crept up on him, like the unexpected knife between his ribs. Everything he had to remember, and all the rest he needed to forget. And sometimes the two seemed to get muddled.

He could still feel Coulson watching him, and wondered what he saw. Kept his face deliberately and carefully closed. That was, at least, something he had a great deal of practice with, and returned to his reading.

At the back of the packet, tucked in like an afterthought, was a brief two page report on the "New Mexico Incident." Loki got two paragraphs in and stopped. He could see Thor's face hover briefly in his mind, remember the way something seemed to have gone from it. Some brightness. Golden Thor, tarnished by the dull sheen of mortality.

He closed the folder, quietly. Focused his eyes straight ahead and cleared and centered his thoughts. This was his life. One not ruled by Thor. Not ruled by any but himself.

And yet, as always, wherever he stepped there Thor had been first, leaving impressions too deep for Loki to match.

Loki shoved the bitterness threatening to well up down. Thor was not here. Thor was no longer a part of his life. All of that was gone, and now was only the forward.

_If you keep moving,_ he thought dryly, _perhaps someday you will outrun all your shadows._

~.~

Loki got the feeling that Director Nick Fury didn't like him very much.

At least, he thought dryly, there were a fair number who would sympathize with that sentiment.

Director Fury had a face that seemed best suited for glowering, and as though it had not spent much time doing anything else. One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, and Loki thought of a rumor that had circulated once, wondered what this man had sold his eye for.

"So you're Mr. Silver," he said, and folded his hands on his desk. "You've caused us a bit of trouble."

Loki cocked his head a fraction to the side. "Have I? I might have put that the other way around."

Fury flipped open a folder on the table that looked remarkably like the one Loki had been given. "Six agents," he said, not looking down at it. "Two just got through spending two months as a pair of lovebirds."

Loki did not crack a smile. "Not very charming creatures, are they?"

"Another abruptly decided to tender his resignation in favor of a career as a florist. The fourth has become prone to speaking in tongues without seeming aware of doing so. The last two are still under probation for revealing classified information."

Looking unapologetic was not a struggle. "As your estimable Agent Coulson realized," Loki said, "I dislike being – well, stalked. Admittedly yours were better than some, but I think you will find that most people object to certain methods, most notably attempted kidnapping." Loki let the corners of his lips tilt up. "I merely have the means to defend myself somewhat more spectacularly than most, and what I think a few have called an unfortunate sense of humor."

Fury's one visible eye narrowed. Loki waited. He could read a certain amount of authority from this man, but that was only all the more reason to make things clear from the beginning.

"You gave Agent Coulson quite a list of skills."

There was a question under that, but Loki chose to ignore it. "The universe is more dangerous than you know. It behooves one to be prepared." That single eye narrowed a little further, and then his expression smoothed. Loki did not mistake it for relaxation.

"I suppose it does." A momentary pause, and another slow consideration. "The way Coulson managed to keep you off our blacklist," Fury said, darkly, "Was by convincing me that you'd be a better asset than an enemy. Try not to prove him wrong."

"Oh," said Loki, and sobered, very slightly. "I don't think I'll disappoint."

After that, the rest was almost easy. He breezed through the assessments – far less difficult than the trials he'd clawed his way through at adolescence – and held back only what he needed to that he could be sure they would not react out of the fear he suspected they would if he wasn't careful.

If nothing else, his conversation with Fury had said enough of that. Underneath all the phrasing, Loki could hear it well enough. _You're on thin ice. We don't trust you. Stay useful._ They would find killing him difficult or impossible. That did not mean they didn't have the ability to make his life severely inconvenient.

And besides, he had made his choice. Or his bargain. He would keep it.

It was Coulson waiting for him when he emerged, with an ID card and another packet of papers, and that same unaltered expression. Loki gave him a bit of an arch grin. "Did I exaggerate?"

Coulson did not seem to find that worth answering. "From here on in it's mostly paperwork," he said. "Other logistical details…there's some housing nearby, though for the first few months we ask that you remain on-site. Probationary period. After that you're welcome to seek new arrangements." He paused, for a moment, seeming to be considering something.

"We haven't seen something quite like you before," he said after a moment, bluntly. "You're going to get a lot of curious techs knocking at your door. We could use any information you have to offer. Play nice."

Loki pulled out his toothiest grin. "Why. What gave you the idea I would ever do otherwise?" He murmured, and received the first trace of something like humor he'd seen yet from the peculiar little agent.

It gave him a small, unexpected gratification.

~.~

His room was simple enough. Unadorned, impersonal, largely uninteresting. The few things he'd brought with him were stacked in a corner and, so organized, looked like even less than they had before.

A visual representation, he thought dryly, of the sum total of what his new life was. Eight months, he reminded himself, was barely the blink of an eye.

After a moment, he sat down at the desk in one corner and removed his laptop from one of his bags, flipped it open and started it up. He read through the Wikipedia articles on poison dart frogs, bromeliads, and Spanish conquistadors before drifting back to Google and searching the New Mexico Incident.

There was almost no news coverage, Loki noted. A few small items, vague and uninformative. Some forums thick with conspiracy theorists and people claiming to have seen the mysterious item before it was removed. A few accounts from someone-who-knew-someone from the town itself, half-coherent descriptions that were half truth and mostly confusion.

He clicked on the image search.

A few drawings of the Destroyer. Some photographs of the wreckage of the town. And one-

Loki stopped scrolling and clicked to bring up the full size image. He glanced at the website it was from, caught traces of _most of my pictures, but they didn't get this one._ The sun was bright and the quality was poor, but it was clear enough. Three people, one woman, two men, clustered together, apparently in the midst of a conversation and unaware of their photographer. He couldn't make out their faces, except for the woman's screwed up in concentration, but he didn't need to.

Loki would know that mane of golden hair anywhere. As well as he knew anything. Or had known.

So these were Thor's mortals. He had only the vaguest memories of them, and even now as he tried to focus on them, his eyes kept coming back to that golden head bowed down, tilted toward the woman as though listening, truly listening. He felt sick.

No, not sick. _Home_sick. For a place that had never really been and something he'd never really had, but all the same- like an ache. Remembering Thor throwing him into a pool of water and then diving in after him, remembering Frigga's soft voice, remembering-

Loki slammed the computer shut and just managed not to throw it across the room. A waste of money, and while he could probably reassemble it, that was a waste of time. His hands quivered and he clenched them and stood up, jerkily.

_Over and done with. All of that is gone. They will never connect you to it save by coincidence, and can prove nothing. And the moment the Bifrost is repaired and he returns – if it ever is repaired – then it is only a moment's thought to be gone, and there are other places to hide. To run. _

_To crawl to, like a creeping coward dog from its master. _

Loki swore under his breath and summoned his knives to him, letting the weight of one in his palm be something of a comfort, as if it could defend him.

_You lied to yourself,_ he thought, looking down at it, eye following the blade as it vanished to a razor-fine edge. _To think you could ever leave it behind. Gone but not forgotten, and they, these humans will reopen all of your old wounds yet. Will you be bled dry or still stand on the other side?_

_I will stand,_ Loki thought stubbornly. _I chose this road. And I will take it, and they cannot take it from me. _

_No one can take it from me. _

Thor's shadow was not here, except in his mind, and he could burn it away from there. This small thing that he was making, he would not lose to memories.

**Interlude (IV)**

Loki slept poorly. His dreams were all fragments, messy and disjointed, of falling and of Odin holding him over the edge and then slowly, slowly, letting go even as he tried, desperately, to explain that he'd just meant to -_ it doesn't matter what you meant, _Odin said in Heimdall's voice. _You are what you are. You will never be anything else. I cannot have a jotunn for a son_. In his dreams, Thor stood back and looked impassively at him, stony-faced as Loki tried to explain, but his tongue was all in knots and Mjolnir was rising to strike him down into nothing, less than nothing, but then had he ever been anything else-

He woke feeling only marginally more rested than he had and in no sunnier a mood. The room had a stale, unwashed smell to it, and Loki simply lay back for a time, looking up at the ceiling and somehow managing to simultaneously feel empty and too full.

But his head was clearer, he was no longer dizzy, and taking a deep breath through his nose, Loki rose in one smooth movement and went to inspect the facilities.

The bath seemed unwontedly small, but after some experimentation Loki worked out the shower and while it was not quite so luxurious, the water was warm and the pound of it against his back was peculiarly soothing. He lingered for a while, working a lather of soap through his hair, and realized as he was rinsing the last of it away that this was the first time he'd had a chance to really wash since Thor's banishment.

He looked down at his hands, at the water rolling off his skin, as if half expecting them to change before his eyes.

They didn't, and a moment later he turned off the water with a sharp jerk of his wrist and climbed out of the shower to dress, thinking of his next intentions. With the amount that he would have to learn and absorb, though, there seemed an obvious choice.

Thor, Loki thought without meaning to, would have laughed at him. _Of course, always the first place you look, isn't it, you'd live in a library if you could_, and he winced. Would that ever, he wondered, not hurt to think? Would he ever be rid of Thor's shadow casting a pall over him?

_(You didn't need anyone else's shadow; you cast your own on yourself effectively enough.)_

Loki shook himself and donned his new clothes. He stopped at the counter on his way out and asked about a library. The servingman behind the desk was more than helpful, producing a map and circling locations. On a whim, Loki magicked a gold coin into his pocket as he exited the lodging – hotel, he remembered.

Orienting the map and placing himself in the warren of streets, Loki set off for the nearest library.

Libraries on Midgard, at least, were a comforting familiarity. The smell of books, row upon row of shelves and the quiet. That sense of still peace that had been such a sanctuary for him when he was young – and later, too. When his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and he was full of uncertainties and doubts that wouldn't leave him, so often had he retreated to the royal library to curl up amongst the shelves as if he might slip between the pages of a book and hide there.

That thought brought back the ache in him, the childish wish that he might open his eyes and this would all be gone. That he might turn and see Thor standing there, telling him it'd all been a terrible mistake, _Loki, we're so sorry, we need you home with us._

But he knew lies, and he knew truth, and he knew what he was. Blood would always out, it seemed. Blood might be thicker than water, but ice, it seemed, was thicker than blood.

Childish foolishness.

The Midgardian library was, at the least, well organized, and it was easy enough to coopt a desk in an unoccupied corner and begin accumulating books. Unsure what would be most useful, he picked up everything that looked interesting, though after some inspection the sciences and social sciences sections seemed to be most fruitful, so he began there.

And buried himself and his thoughts in memorizing everything he could read.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of the others seemed inclined to avoid him. That suited Loki well enough. He could feel them watching, stares ranging from wary to curious, and didn't bother to acknowledge any of them. No doubt he was a thing of curiosity to them.

Another time, he might have basked in the attention. In his current mood, he didn't want it. Not this particular type of interest.

He spent his time instead going over protocol (ensuring there was nothing that he would stumble over), exploring the complex (including a few areas Loki suspected he wasn't supposed to know about) and taking apart and reconstructing the majority of the electronic devices in his rooms.

They gave him his first mission only a few days later, and it seemed almost embarrassingly simple. Infiltration and recovery of an object whose importance Loki did not entirely grasp. Nor did Loki particularly care. He was simply grateful for the chance to stretch his legs – and himself.

What he was less grateful for were the conditions.

"You're not going alone," Coulson informed him. The look Loki gave him must have communicated some of his incredulity, because he went on to add, "Very, very few of our agents take entirely solo missions. And not on their first time out. Whatever their prior experience."

"You're not sending someone with me for my safety," Loki said coolly. "You're sending him for yours. To ensure that I do not step out of line."

"Would that be such a surprise?"

Loki smiled his sharp, thin smile. "No. But that does not make it any less of an annoyance." Coulson met his eyes, still utterly untroubled.

"This isn't one of those things that's negotiable. The agent we're sending is more than competent and has been with us for a while. I don't doubt you'll find his assistance useful."

Well, Loki thought dryly. At least there's _that. _"Assuredly," he said a little too silkily. "Am I to be introduced to this 'more than competent' operative of yours?"

"I can introduce myself," said the man who'd just appeared in the open doorway. Loki glanced over at him, took in a compact frame, a blunt stare, and sharp eyes currently examining him with something that was not quite wary distrust. "Agent Barton."

Loki turned, pressed a hand over his heart, and sketched a formal bow. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he said, slipping without entirely meaning to into the exactingly polite tone that had never failed to irritate its target. "I am-"

"I know," said Barton, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I've heard. Luke Silver, huh? Been some talk."

Loki did not contain his smirk. "It would seem I've attained a certain level of notoreity among this agency. I suppose I shouldn't be flattered." He caught out of the corner of his eye the slight press of Coulson's lips into a line, perhaps irritation, and ignored it.

"No," Barton agreed, voice a little bit crisp and most certainly not amused. "Probably not."

"Pardon me," Loki murmured, letting his head fall slightly to the side in a quizzical tilt. "I have the strangest impression that I've done something to offend you."

"Friend of mine was part of one of the teams they sent after you," Barton said, flatly. Loki could not quite keep his mouth from twitching up at one corner.

"Oh? Lovebirds or florist?" The man's eyes narrowed, but more notable was the slight frown that Coulson directed at him, this time directly. Not in itself, but more the reminder that apparently he was going to have to cooperate with this mortal for the next hopefully short while and it would not be in his best interests to make the interaction more odious than it already would be. "Ah, no matter. My apologies, I suppose, for having caused your friend…trouble. Perhaps it might be forgotten for a time?"

Barton looked faintly dubious. "Yeah," he said. "Fine." That sounded far from convincing, but Loki threw him a winning smile.

"Excellent. I am pleased that you are able to be so reasonable."

The slight tightening around Barton's mouth suggested to Loki that perhaps his tone had not been quite as intended. Or perhaps had been precisely as he'd intended; his temper had not been at its best. "Let's just get this op over with."

"I certainly," Loki said, and perhaps the mildness of his voice was a touch too deliberate, "Have no objections to that proposal."

~.~

The security of the lair where the object they were to retrieve was being held was frankly abysmal. Several entertaining possibilities suggested themselves to Loki at once as he took it in, but the bore of eyes on the back of his neck served as a reminder that perhaps he might conserve his consideration of the importance of style for later.

The electronic systems were easy enough to tease into cooperatively directing their gaze elsewhen, bent back twenty minutes or so. The human guards were even easier. They were bored and distracted, minds bent to other matters, and keeping them directed away from one more small thing was…

"So what," Agent Barton (Clint, Loki had heard Coulson call him, strikingly familiar, and wasn't that interesting), "are you planning? Just going to walk right up and-"

"Hush," said Loki, but not quickly enough, the strands of his careful working evaporating. "That was my intention, yes," he said, flicking the remains of the spell away and taking the backlash of what was left without reaction. "But if that seems too simple to you-"

It was probably unnecessary to choose as his illusion one of the _ríkrbj__ø__rn_, full grown and raging. It burst from the trees with a roar that shook the earth and charged for the guards suddenly scrambling to decide how to manage the unexpected attack. Barton was on his feet as well, already reaching for an arrow, but Loki caught his wrist.

"An illusion," he said casually, "Nothing more." Barton was staring at him as though he was not entirely certain that Loki was sane, an expression which Loki ignored.

"_That's_ an," Barton began to say, and Loki observed the motion of the guards, adjusted the direction of his illusion, and made his move.

He grabbed a handful of clothes at the nape of Barton's neck and dragged him through one of the small gaps in the world he'd spent most of his childhood learning to find. They landed just in front of the door he needed to reach, tucked safely behind a sheltering snowdrift, where Loki promptly released his charge and evaded the knife that the man attempted to embed in his side. Loki was going to assume that was an instinctual rather than personal reaction.

Though if it were the latter it would not be the first time.

Barton jerked away from him and backed several steps away, eyes slightly wild. "What the fuck did you just do," he demanded, sounding breathless, and still holding his knife, braced as though for combat.

"A simple short distance transportation," Loki said absently, turning his attention to the door, and touching his fingers to the lock, investigating it with a few tendrils of magic.

"What kind of fucking mutant are you?" Barton still sounded alarmed. There was an edge on his voice. Nervous, perhaps? Loki was not going to bother to take the time to consider it.

"A very peculiar one," he said glibly.

"Don't ever do that to me again," Barton said, voice dropping almost to a snarl. Loki raised a hand and flicked his fingers dismissively, almost amused, and began shaping the image of the lock in his mind, picturing how to undo it. It was more complex than what he was familiar with, but surely-

He felt the slightest stir of air and turned, and found an arrow nocked and at his throat. Barton staring up at him along it, sharp eyes impressively cold. "I don't think I was quite clear enough," he said. "_Don't. _Do that again. At the very _least _not without asking first."

Loki tipped his head to the side. A prickle of annoyance crawled along his nerves followed by hotter anger and he could think of a thousand ways he could end this before the man could so much as twitch, leave him dead and bleeding for daring to-

He pushed it all down and forced a smile. Thin and edged, but a smile nonetheless. "Point taken."

Barton stared at him for a long moment, then finally released the tension and replaced his arrow. "Out of the way," he said, muttered, almost shouldering past Loki to the door. "I'll get the lock."

Loki let him, and watched Barton work the lock open while wondering if an arrow through his throat would be enough to kill him. He doubted it. To Barton's credit, at least, it didn't take long, and they slipped inside one after the other.

"How long's that illusion thing going to last," Barton said, after the door closed behind them and he investigated the hallway. His back to Loki was almost pointed.

"As long as I ask it to," Loki said. He wondered if Barton would have gotten a scolding for killing their potentially valuable new operative. He doubted it.

"And how long is that?"

"That," Loki murmured, "rather depends on the duration of this little jaunt, does it not?"

Barton muttered something under his breath that Loki did not ask him to repeat. So they moved in silence, and Loki at least had to give the mortal that. He was swift and quiet and admirably cautious.

But…there was something prickling at him, a kind of wariness, and it only grew as they moved through quiet, empty halls. One after another, unguarded, his magic sensing no life, nothing other than stone and metal. There ought to be something here.

He was missing something. He, Loki, was missing something, and he was quite sure it should have been obvious.

"I've got the floor plan," Barton was saying, voice low and pitched not to carry. "Intel says that there's a hallway that should get us where we want to go a little further in. Which, hey, actually, if that teleportation thing is-"

"It only works if I have at least passing familiarity with the place I am trying to reach." His senses were humming, but he couldn't have said why. Which was…more than slightly irritating_. _He did catch the look Barton threw him, though, not quite suspicious. But close.

"That's convenient."

"Mmm," Loki said, noncommitally. Barton stopped and turned, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" His voice was sharp edged. "You're twitchy."

_Wary, _Loki thought, with a faint stab of irritation. _Cautious. _"A rank amateur could sense something wrong about this. Can you not?" He said, mildly, though in truth he was not certain just what it _was._ There was something. _Something._

He could see Barton bristling. It was there, just beyond his reach, if he could only… "You're a cocky son of a bitch. _One_ of us is a rank amateur and guess what, it's not-"

Loki interrupted him. "Agent Barton. Does it seem quiet to you?"

"Yeah," he said, after a momentary silence. Almost grudgingly. "It does."

Loki reached out with his mind, trying to sense any kind of life, and stilled completely. Nothing. Utter silence to his senses, other than the hum of whatever was keeping the lights running, somewhere far from them. "There's no one here," he said, flatly. Barton stopped as well.

"No one –" he cut off. "Shit. Why bother guarding an empty facility-"

"Unless they were warned." Loki summoned his throwing knives and turned in a slow circle, the prickling of instinct on the back of his neck intensifying. "It isn't here. There is nothing here. If there ever was-"

"Forget it," Barton snapped. "If there's still a guard here then they were hoping to catch something, which I'm just guessing means there's something unpleasant around here somewhere meant for us."

The thought that crawled into his mind was ugly and all too plausible. He turned the rest of the way through his circle and fixed his eyes on Barton. "I wonder," he said softly. "Who warned them."

Barton's gaze jerked back to him. He looked convincingly frustrated, convincingly confused. But of course, he needn't… "What?"

Loki felt his mouth curl in a slow, ironic smile. "Curious, isn't it? I am, at least to some of your organization, a threat. What an interesting coincidence, that the first time I am sent to do their bidding, a snare is waiting."

"That's ridiculous," Barton snapped, and Loki felt his smile stretch.

"Is it? There would be a curious kind of efficiency to it, would there not? Your Director seems the sort of man to admire efficiency. If you perish, that would be easily laid to my malice. If I should fail to return – well then. Problem solved. Or – what is the word? – neutralized."

Loki saw it. Just for a moment. Barton wavered. Slightly, fleetingly uncertain. And then he laughed sharply. "Jesus Christ, you really think-"

He heard the creak of metal in motion a moment too late and thought, for one brief, mad moment, _the Destroyer. _It was not.

It came through the wall in an explosion of rubble and dust and the scream of mechanical joints, like a cat or a bear. Mouth opened in a soundless roar, metal claws gouging into stone, crouched blocking the hallway behind them.

Enjoyable, Loki thought, _ha. _

Judging by Barton's, "Oh, _fantastic,_" to his left, he felt the same way. Well. At least they had that in common.

Whatever this was, Loki thought, already in motion, whoever was at fault, he did not intend to perish yet.

He sent his first throwing knife for the creature's eye. The spelled steel sank in deep but the creature showed no reaction, did not even slow, and Loki braced himself to meet its pounce as it barreled toward him. Barton was out of the way, Loki noted, in the last few scant moments before impact. Good.

Loki ducked claws and teeth and went for the throat of the creature with his right hand, bringing his knee up into its exposed belly. A reflexive move that, unfortunately hurt his knee more than the creature, but the real force was in his hand, shoving raw power into metal joints and elaborate energy pathways he couldn't take the time to navigate.

He realized a moment too late that he'd made a mistake, created a circuit between himself and the energy that kept this beast moving, added to it with his own, and he should have pulled away at once to avoid the inevitable-

The backlash hit him like a hand squeezing behind his eyes and a popping feeling somewhere in his head. He jerked away to avoid the rest of it and felt the clean, tearing pain of very sharp metal ripping through his shoulder.

This, he thought angrily, was not going well. _Fool. You're rusty. _

"Get down!" Barton's voice, and Loki dropped obediently, reflexively, and before he could think too much about obeying a mortal's orders. His shoulder was screaming at him and he shoved that down. Ignored it.

Loki didn't see the arrow, but he heard the grind of metal on metal and the hiss of acid, and as he rolled to his feet and turned saw that something highly corrosive was eating through the joint where one of the legs attached. Another followed, but the beast was back in motion, awkward, lurching, but still quick, and in the narrow hallway, the ranged weapon was a weakness. Loki saw the moment Barton realized it as well and reached for his own blade. The beast was lurching rapidly towards him.

Loki could see, in the clearheaded distant way that he understood things when fighting, that it wasn't going to be enough. Those metal claws had ripped his shoulder open to the bone. A mortal would not survive the same.

It was a snap, impulse decision. His favorite. He opened his stride and vaulted up on the thing's back, slammed his hunting knife down through where the spine would be in an ordinary creature, driving its head toward the ground_. _He reached for the knot of energy that made up the core of this thing to his magic-sense, and made of his power a crude knife, sliced through it.

The front end of the beast disintegrated. Violently. The rest of it crashed to the ground, inanimate.

Loki rose out of the wreckage and retrieved his knife. The blade was nicked. That was truly irritating. Barton was looking at him with something like a frown.

"No need to jump in," he said, after a long moment. "I can handle myself." Perhaps, Loki thought, faintly peeved. Though he caught the mortal's gaze lingering on the disintegrated remains of their aggressor and wondered if he had overplayed his hand.

"I do not doubt it," Loki said mildly. "Right up until it spilled your entrails on the floor while you were still trying to get a knife through steel." He flicked his tongue out and tasted copper on his upper lip, grimaced. Nosebleed. Unpleasant.

"Every armor has weak spots," said Barton stubbornly. "I'm pretty good at finding them." He paused, a moment, and added, almost grudgingly, "You're bleeding."

"So I am," Loki allowed. It was already slowing, at least, though the mending muscle would ache for a day or so yet. "I am not about to fret over it."

Barton narrowed his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "Okay, fine." Then he stepped around Loki and started back down the hallway, stiff like an offended cat. "I don't know about you, but I think it's time to get out of here."

"I would not object on principle." But. His shoulder hurt. Suspicions stung at him like horseflies. And there was still something…he groped for it. "Stop."

Barton stopped. "What," he said, flatly, "Got another conspiracy theory to throw aroun…" He trailed off. Sniffed. "Something smells like a gas leak," he said, and then his eyes widened. "Shit shit shit. _Move!_" There was a dull boom somewhere back the way they'd come. More than familiar enough, and followed by another, and another, drawing closer.

A distraction, Loki thought. Clever. Give them something to fight and in the meantime-

"There's another exit," Barton was saying rapidly, "I think, a few turns down from here-"

He could feel the structure shaking, shuddering as it began to crumble like the metal cat under his spell. There were certain odds that Loki was not willing to play. Perhaps this had been a trap set for him, but there was more than one way to prove one's worth.

"Do forgive me," Loki said to Clint, and grabbed his arm.

The approaching flames were near enough that he felt the heat of the next explosion on his face as they teleported away.

**Interlude V**

When he finally surfaced, Loki was startled to realize that hunger was beginning to gnaw at him and text swam before his eyes when he looked away. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes impatiently. He was beginning to feel as though it might be a task of months to grasp what he needed to know about this place, when so much of the way they thought about things was strange and unfamiliar.

But he thought he at least had a grasp of a few things. It was something to start with. Between that and the knowledge he'd accumulated out of curiosity during the period of time when he'd been considering wandering all nine realms...

Of course, then Thor had found out about the idea and mentioned it to Frigga and that was the end of that; he'd been _furiously _angry at the time, but of course Thor had said-

_I only want to keep you safe, brother. I never want to see you come to harm. _

It was like someone had reached between his ribs and wrapped fingers around his heart and squeezed. Hard.

He rubbed savagely at his eyes and stood up. He paced away from his stack of books and stretched cramping muscles. It had been some time since he'd been still and researching for quite so long. His mouth was dry, he was beginning to feel hungry, and there was a dull headache beginning to pound in his temples.

"Wow," said a voice, suddenly, from over his shoulder, startlingly close, "I was starting to wonder if you'd died or something."

Loki wheeled, half groping for a weapon that wasn't there, and stared blankly at the girl with an armful of books watching him. She smiled, a little crookedly.

"I mean, I've walked past here at least four times in the last five hours and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you move once. So it was kind of a legit concern."

What was it, Loki wondered, about humans, that compelled them to make conversation with anyone at all? "As you can see," he said, "I am not. Your concern is touching."

"Ooh," she said, "Accent! Where's that from?" Loki stared at her, and the girl's cheeks flushed just a little. "Um…never mind. I was actually just about to say, though. Library's closing in ten. So you might wanna…you know. Get ready to leave?"

Closing? Loki cast a look toward the windows. "It must be – barely early evening."

"Almost six," said the girl, and shrugged. "Time flies when you're buried in research, I guess.

"Six?" Loki echoed, and took a moment to convert the Midgardian hour into his own understanding, and then frowned. "And it is closing _already?_"

The girl stared at him. "…same time it always does, yeah. I mean, I guess if you really wanted to you could probably hide in the stacks and pull an all-nighter in here." Loki wasn't sure what the expression on his face was, but it appeared to alarm her. "Don't actually do that," she hurried to add. "They'd probably arrest you or something."

Loki scoffed, without really thinking about it. "They might try."

The girl blinked at him and then laughed, suddenly. "Wow," she said. "I thought you were, like, professorial type. Guess I got that wrong. Seriously, though…don't stay here overnight. Can I, uh, help you put your books away? I'm Laurie, by the way." She stuck out a hand, which Loki examined for a moment before shaking, because refusing seemed pointless.

"Luke," he said, after a bare moment's hesitation. "It's a pleasure, I'm sure." He mouthed the pleasantry without really thinking about it, and only belatedly noticed the flush around the girl – Laurie's ears.

"Uh huh," she said, and Loki hoped he hadn't erred. But she did grab one of his stacks of books. Loki picked up another, balancing them precariously. He could, he assured himself, always come back tomorrow. Laurie was examining the titles with interest.

"Wow," she said. "What are you researching, anyway?"

It was a question he should have been prepared to answer, and with some dull, technical string of words that would quickly lose all interest of the listener. He didn't have one prepared, though, and so settled on honesty. "A bit of everything," he said casually, and hoped that did not seem strange here. Laurie whistled.

"Yeah," she said. "No kidding." But she smiled at him, just a little, and if that was confusing it wasn't unpleasant. "So," she went on, after a moment. "Coolest thing you read today?"

Loki shot her a sharp look, but the expression on her face was not one of mocking. Was, rather, of genuine curiosity. He had a flash of his mother asking him the same question, but even briefly it _hurt. _So he pushed that away the best way he knew how.

By talking.

It helped.


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: With enormous thanks to zaataronpita who has undertaken the dubious task of being my full time beta for this monster mess story. I don't think I actually have a whole lot of disclaimers to make! Except that I am wowed by the response this has received and hope to get to everyone's comments eventually, but my life is composed of a great deal of flailing about lately._

_A note about OCs: this story is most likely going to stay hilariously gen with very, very few exceptions. If you were worried. But it will make pretty significant use of a few OCs that I hope will remain as inoffensive as possible._

_Also a note that I am keeping my science vague because I am bad at science. Fair warning._

* * *

Well, Loki thought, if he were to find positives to the situation, metal claws left remarkably clean wounds. Barton was (miraculously enough) still alive. He had only briefly made a serious attempt to eviscerate Loki and then proceeded to ignore him with almost admirable thoroughness. Their target had not been where it was supposed to be to begin with, so strictly speaking, they had not failed.

It still had the bitter taste of it on Loki's tongue. Enough to reawaken the low murmur of _never could do anything right, what made you think this would be any different _in the back of his mind. He had felt Barton watching him from across the helicopter that had come to fetch them and wondered what he was thinking. What he would report.

The mission had gone poorly. Their objective had not been accomplished. He had performed sloppily (to put it kindly). They had been compromised from the beginning. Barton had nearly been killed. The fact that it might have been a setup from the beginning – a notion that Loki had still not entirely discarded – might mean that he had stymied an attempt to bring him down, but left the possibility that he needed to remain scrupulously on his guard. Though of course, if they wanted rid of him, his very lack of satisfactory performance might well prove enough.

For the moment, however, he was sequestered in his still fairly barren room and allowing himself to be slightly pleased with the fact that he had managed to keep any and all blood off of his clean sheets while his shoulder healed.

The little spell he'd keyed to alert him when someone was at the door went off a moment before the knock came. Loki pushed his hand back through his hair and stood up, composing his face before pacing over to open the door. It was not, as expected, Coulson.

It was Barton. He didn't look happy.

Loki raised his eyebrows and waited.

"You didn't deliver your report in person," he said, after a few moments of silence.

Loki stayed in the doorway. "Did I not? What an unfortunate oversight." Clint shifted slightly.

"You look a fair bit less bloody than you did last time I saw you."

"I heal quickly," Loki said shortly. The man seemed very slightly uncomfortable, though Loki could not have pinned down why. It made him tense. He supposed it might be the fact that he had ignored the injunction about teleportation, but all things considered he did not truly think Barton could be too picky.

"Hm." Barton paused. He pulled a lopsided smile, then. "So, that. Could've gone better, probably."

Loki stared at him, dully, and waited. Barton looked back at him, and if his attempt at a smile faded quickly, it was into almost stubborn indifference. Loki ran out of patience first. "Why are you here?"

The slight twist of Clint's mouth did not look entirely pleased. "I'm not stupid. I noticed what you pulled with that thing and I know how good my chances were if you hadn't."

"I assumed it would put me in poor standing to allow you to die," Loki said shortly, though he almost regretted it a moment later, even if it was true. Simple arithmetic. He was stronger, faster, and less vulnerable. He had had the chance and the power to kill the thing while it was distracted and had taken it.

Clint's eyes narrowed another notch. "Yeah, well. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate it."

Loki blinked once. Very faintly startled. "Are you thanking me?" he said, before he could think better of it, and Barton gave him a slightly sidelong look.

"Generally the thing to do, isn't it?"

Loki stared at him blankly. Barton seemed uncomfortable again, and took a step back. "Anyway…yeah. That's all." He turned, and then paused, and turned back to face Loki again. "Though. I'll let this one time slide because of the whole imminent building collapse thing, but I am serious about that teleportation thing."

"It is useful," Loki said, unable to help a slight curl of his lips, and Barton twitched like he wanted to shudder and thought better of it.

"It's fucking weird is what it is," he muttered, and raised a hand almost awkwardly. "Anyway. I guess I'll…see you around."

Loki closed the door quietly behind him and stood with his hand on the doorknob for a moment. Thinking of hunts that had gone awry and Thor or the Warriors Three venting their frustration with what he had or had not done. Anger when he pulled them out of a battle he knew they would lose, or killed one of their attackers by magic, thus depriving them of the chance. So very, _very _seldom was there gratitude.

Barton did not seem to like him very much. And yet…he'd come nonetheless.

Strange.

It was, Loki decided, something to consider.

~.~

Over the next few days, Loki found himself wondering what Barton had said. The majority of his…coworkers…still seemed largely content to ignore his movements, but he caught some watching with new curiosity or interest, and a few went so far as to approach him and introduce themselves with a faint air of wariness and a more definite air of curiosity. Most of them agents of some stripe or another, a blur of mortal faces and names that Loki stored away for reference but did not particularly bother to ponder.

And then there were the others.

"Agent Silver?"

He turned to see a short woman stalking toward him like a wolf closing on its prey. Loki let his eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch. "I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure."

"Chandra Sheffer," she said. Everything about her was brusque, and the way she looked him over almost brazen. "I work in one of the labs. May I have a few moments of your time?" The way she said it, the question was very nearly a demand.

But curiosity had always been a fairly reliable motivator for him. "I don't see why not." He offered her a shallow bow. "I am unoccupied and at your mercy."

The smile she flashed at him was almost unnervingly familiar, which just further piqued his interest. "Right this way, then," she said, and started striding toward one of the elevators. "If you don't mind coming downstairs with me, we've just got a few questions…"

"About?" Loki asked, slowing his stride to match her quick, short steps.

"Well," said Chandra, "To be frank, I'm a scientist. I don't believe in magic. So when I get handed a file with records of something that looks an awful lot like 'magic', I'm curious."

Loki felt a little twinge of amusement. "To return the favor of your frankness, magic does not require your belief. It is, whether you believe it or not."

Chandra's lips pressed together and she narrowed her eyes at him. "I do not accept that answer as sufficient."

"Why not?"

"It's not enough to know that something works," she said, stoutly, and something about her voice was familiar but Loki did not let himself linger on that. "I want to know how, and why. You're not curious?" Loki wondered if Chandra was any good at true questions. This one sounded almost like an accusation, and he suddenly thought of his own peevish voice, _don't you ever just _wonder _things?_ _Give that back, I was _reading.

He did not let his stride falter. "And how do you mean to answer these…questions…of yours?"

"The usual way," Chandra said crisply. "Gathering and analyzing data. In here." She directed him into an elevator. Loki let himself be steered, though privately he began to wonder if perhaps he had made a hasty decision.

"What sort of data?"

"Energy readings, mostly." Chandra sounded slightly distracted. She had pulled her phone from her pocket and was punching buttons on it rapidly, eyes fixed on the screen. Texting someone, he supposed. "A DNA sample'd be great if you didn't mind, we had some blood but that got confiscated-"

That got his attention. "You _what?_"

She glanced up, blinked, and for the first time looked very, very slightly nervous. "You _were _in a hospital," she said, slowly. "It's standard procedure, and after you just kind of disappeared SHIELD took everything related to you off record."

Loki's right hand twitched. He could almost feel fingers crawling up his spine. "There are a number of unpleasant things that can be done with very small amounts of blood," he said, and stored that information away to seek out this errant sample later. And destroy it.

"Like what?" Chandra asked, and the fear was gone again. She had a look on her fact that Loki associated with the one he himself got when he had an idea about a spell and was itching to try it, and the notion that he had perhaps made a hasty decision intensified.

"I don't think that is relevant," Loki said, with just a trace of acidity in his voice.

"Yeah," Chandra allowed, though she looked slightly disappointed. "Probably not. This is all just a little…well. Blood magic and everything, I was into Harry Potter for a while-" she snuck a glance at him, and Loki didn't know what his expression looked like, but apparently it wasn't what she was expecting. "—but whatever." The elevator dinged as it stopped on what Loki noted was Basement Sublevel 2. "Right through here. There's a few labs down here, mine's the second on the left that way-" She started down the hallway, scurrying almost like a rodent. Loki followed and watched her flash her ID in front of some kind of reader. She held the door open for him.

"After you," she said, and Loki stepped inside.

His first impression was of low level chaos. There seemed to be an alarming number of people all rushing about and miraculously managing not to collide. There was a continuous low level murmur of conversation, of which he caught periodic snatches – "If we try it with an amplitude of…" "…did somebody move my nitrates?" "…season finale was stunning." Standing a moment longer, he could begin to perceive a rhythm to it, a pattern to the motion and activity, and then someone turned around and appeared to notice his arrival, judging by the fact that they stopped dead and stared.

Loki raised his eyebrows delicately in their direction. Then Chandra behind his shoulder bellowed (at an impressive volume for so small a woman), "Hey _folks! _We've got a guest, everybody play nice. There, introductions over, follow along after me," she said, and marched into the fray.

Loki was torn between amusement and a mild sense of affront, but pushed both down and simply followed, ignoring the blatantly curious stares that followed him. He found Chandra in a back corner of the lab, almost ludicrously cluttered, clearing some papers off of two chairs. She sat down in one and indicated the other.

Loki sat, plucked up one of the moved papers and scanned it quickly before setting it back down. He could hear murmurs behind him, his assumed name, _fell from the sky, new designation, what do you think…_

He could not decide if he found it enjoyable or uncomfortable, and steepled his fingers under his chin, focusing on the woman who was clearly in charge. "Okay," Chandra was saying, "Let's start with a few questions." She clicked her pen on the table twice. "Now. Were you born with these abilities of yours, or did they come from some childhood incident?"

~.~

'A few' turned out to be 'very many.' She wanted to know when his magic had begun to manifest (though he noted, with some amusement, that she avoided saying 'magic' as though it were a sort of curse), what form it had taken, what the limitations were (a question he assured her he could not answer without several hours and that she would not understand without an advanced background in the theory of these things), and so on and so forth.

It was more fun than he'd had in years. Chandra was an attentive audience. She asked perceptive questions – if often somewhat odd ones. She had a quick mind and was swift to grasp concepts that he explained to her. She did not interrupt, though it seemed a struggle for her not to do so.

Loki had not had anyone to discuss _seiðr _with in many years, much less known anyone curious about the intricate workings that had drawn him to it to begin with. Even discussing the most basic theories with a mortal was…

Pleasant. Was pleasant, he could admit that.

If frustrating.

"That doesn't make any sense," Chandra said, for the umpteenth time, and Loki exhaled in frustration.

"It does not make sense _to you. _How would you describe sight to a blind man?" He asked. "Or light, to someone who has spent their entire life in darkness? If I do not speak your language, you do not speak mine."

"Maybe not," said Chandra, a stubborn set to her mouth. "But what I want to know is if we can learn. Everything follows certain rules. If I work out the rules of this-"

"Unless your rules are wrong," Loki pointed out mildly. Chandra looked almost personally offended.

"They're not mine, and they're not wrong."

Loki exhaled in frustration. "Not _wrong, _then. _Limited, _if you prefer."

"Limited _how?_"

"In vocabulary, at the very least. Half of the things that occur in the world are invisible to you, and thus you lack the words to describe them."

"Then teach me the vocabulary."

"It is not-" Loki tilted his head back and considered. His mind was racing ahead of him, already wondering if it could be taught, if these mortals did have the capacity for understanding _seiðr _and wouldn't that be…ironic was not quite the right word. He was _curious, _now, and he knew that itch too well. But there was still...

He reached inward and cast one of his oldest, most familiar workings. Chandra looked gratifyingly startled.

"How would you explain," he said, and it was her voice, volume, intonation, and pitch mimicked perfectly to match the face he'd borrowed, "what I have just done?"

"Oh, wow," Chandra said. "That's just. Weird." She blinked. "…I guess I'd…" She leaned forward, a little, her expression going even more intent. "Is it a brain thing? I'm not good with neuro but – something to do with facial recognition structures…" She trailed off. Shook her head. "That's not it, is it."

Loki tipped his head to the side and half smiled, then dropped the working and shifted back to his own form. "That is not the way it works. I do not reach out and nudge the mind of everyone in this room to suggest that they see one thing when there is another. It is like…putting on clothes. Weaving a new skin out of the energy in everything and slipping into it as if it is your own."

"So it is a manipulation of energy, then," Chandra said, and Loki was startled by the fervent tone of her voice. "It's just a matter of what kind of energy. And that's what I want to see if I can-"

"You cannot."

Chandra blinked at him. And frowned. "Magic is three things, in essence: will, energy, and talent," Loki said, leaning back in his chair and dropping his hands from his chin. "The first two can be taught. There are ways of acquiring the third, but all of them dangerous and shadows of the thing itself, even for peoples far more gifted in the material they are given to work with than you. No offense meant," he added, somewhat as an afterthought.

Chandra looked like she wanted to object. Or argue. But she was interrupted. "Excuse me," piped up an unfamiliar voice. "Agent Silver, can you do that again?"

Loki blinked, and glanced to where the voice had come from, to discover that at some point the chaos he had first observed had stilled and he had gained an audience, one of whom was standing and holding some kind of device that he did not recognize. He blinked at them, quite surprised, and Chandra seemed equally startled.

"Don't you all have things to do?" she said, after a moment, but sounded only half-heartedly peevish.

There was a momentary guilty silence. "Probably," someone said, eventually, sounding only the slightest bit abashed. "But this is way more interesting?" Loki felt a quiver of amusement followed shortly by something else, a small, warm, pleased sort of feeling. Perhaps he was a curiosity, an interesting specimen. But they were listening attentively, interested, _invested _in what he had to say.

He could not recall the last time someone had paid so much mind to any serious explanation of his.

Chandra's lips pressed together, but Loki turned his attention to his new questioner, a young man with a mess of red hair. "It doesn't have to be that particular…uh, spell."

"Working," Loki corrected, absently.

"—yeah. Just…something. I'm curious if…"

"Ooh," said a woman perched on a stool next to him. Her hair pulled back from her face was unflattering to sharp features , but there were laugh lines around her eyes. "You think there might be some kind of frequency shift or…"

"Could be radiation," someone else threw in. "Maybe? Seems like _everything's _radiation lately-"

"I don't know," said another thoughtfully, fiddling with his glasses. "Just from what I heard I'm seeing quantum mechanics of some kind, maybe, but I want to know _how…_"

They were all looking at him, intently curious, eyes wide and eager and waiting, and Loki was suddenly entirely caught off balance. "I'm afraid," he said, slowly, "I have lost track of what it is you are asking of me."

"Do something magic-y," said someone, and Loki heard it suddenly, there. Of course. The mockery. The expectation that he would perform like some sort of buffoon for their entertainment – the small warm feeling withered and died.

He stood. "No," Loki said coolly. "I think I must be going." He looked for a path to the door, did not find one, and heard what was unmistakably a disappointed sigh ripple through the assembled group. Let them sigh. He would not be their entertainment.

"Hold on," said Chandra, which he ignored. "Jesus, Ian, you dumbass," someone else muttered. "Now you've pissed him off."

"If you would please," Loki said delicately and coldly, and a few mortals shuffled a little, and did not seem in any real hurry to make his exit easy. Loki's eyes narrowed.

"Um," said one of them, sandy-haired and wide-eyed. "Please don't just. Take off? Ian's a dumbass but we'd really like to know…" A clamor began to rise, hopeful and cajoling.

_I am not your jester, _Loki felt the urge to snap. _I will not perform my 'tricks' to entertain you. I will not dance on your strings-_

_Aren't you? _The thought occurred to him, and Loki turned sharply, lifted his hand, and snapped his fingers. Every light in the room exploded into a spray of sparks and then went out. The silence that fell was profound.

"I hope," Loki said acidly, "That will do." He could dimly see a number of astonished faces looking up at him.

"Oh, Jesus," said someone, into the silence. "That was _awesome._"

"A power surge," said someone else. "Was that a power surge? Was anyone looking at any readings?" The excited babbling began to rise again, and Loki blinked. Even in the dark, he could see their eyes, and the ones looking at him were – impressed. Almost, he thought, awed. He flicked a hand and the lights flickered back on, though he suspected they were not exactly as they had been, and looked to Chandra.

She was watching him with narrowed eyes, but it was an expression thoughtful rather than suspicious. The other voices died down, and they were looking at him expectantly again. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Loki held very still, wondering if he had perhaps overstepped himself, and feeling suddenly and _peculiarly _like a petulant child.

"Agent Silver," said Chandra, after a few moments of silence. "I asked if you would be willing to undergo a few tests. Are you still? …preferably without blowing our circuits, I guess I should add," she said, with a wry smile. Loki stared at her. He was not sure what reaction he had expected, but it was not…

…well. Appreciation seemed the nearest word.

He remembered Coulson suggesting that he cooperate with these sorts of questions, but he had not made it sound like a condition, and Loki was fairly familiar with the sound of conditions. He need not tolerate this…prying, this gawking at him like some sort of spectacle. He need not-

But their open curiosity, their interest, their keen desire to know _how _and _why_, and he could remember the feeling when he'd first made a successful working like a small living thing taking shape between his hands; the wonder, the awe. The way they were watching him now, eagerly hopeful. Perhaps they could not work magic, mundane things that they were, but to understand something was its own reward, sometimes.

_Is it such an ill thing, _he thought, _to want to be seen? _Because that was at the heart of it, wasn't it, that he wanted their attention, wanted their eyes and their praise and that was absurd, what need did he have of the approval of little mortals who hardly understood their own world-

But then again, by the other side of the coin, might it not be his due? Might it not be the least he should be owed, and yet here he shied from them as though-

_(You don't deserve it.)_

Perhaps it was that thought, flitting across his mind for just a moment, that decided him. "I am willing," he said, and summoned a sharp smile. "Who else will see to correcting your woefully backwards ideas about the universe?"

Perhaps he ought to have taken Chandra's smile as a warning. He did not. He took it as a victory.

**Interlude (VI)**

Loki was not entirely certain how he wound up eating dinner with Laurie and her grandmother.

He suspected it had something to do with being caught up in discussion of Midgardian literature, oddly enough (on which Loki was mostly bluffing, but could manage that relatively effectively) and somehow ending up walking Laurie to her apartment, whereupon her grandmother took him in before Loki could depart gracefully and seemed to determine that he was in sore need of feeding.

In fairness, Loki could not object so much. The food was delicious, the conversation was friendly and he managed, for the most part, to keep it safely away from himself. They were kind, they were curious, they spoke rapidly and in what seemed to Loki to be largely nonsense.

_This is, _he told himself, _a much more efficient way to gain an understanding of this realm. There is only so much that a book can tell you. _

There was only so long, however, that he could dodge all of their questions, and it was Laurie's grandmother (named, he had learned, Bethany), a small, withered looking woman, who caught him by surprise. They were discussing something or other, some story that Loki was just half listening to.

"So, Luke," she said, and the curious sharpness of her eyes really ought to have warned him. "Do you have family here?"

"—what?" Loki said, distracted by mopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a slice of bread, surprised by his own hunger.

"Family," Bethany said, pointing her fork at him. "Do you have family here?" And, horrors, Loki stumbled. Paused just a moment too long before managing his rather too vehement "No," realizing too late how conspicuous it sounded.

They were both looking at him now. Loki tensed. He ought to have been paying closer attention. "No," he said, after a moment, again, smoothing out his voice. "I have…no family here." Or anywhere. Either dead or dead to _me _and-

Stop, he thought, clenching one hand on his leg. You will only humiliate yourself.

Bethany nodded sagely. "A job, then," she said, and Loki was still off guard, still trying to collect himself.

"Ah," he said. "I – just arrived here, in truth. I have not as of yet found… employment." Hadn't even begun to think of it. Money was not a worry, or had not been. Though he had not actually _paid _for anything as yet, and that he might have to consider. There was no savor in stealing from such easy prey.

"And with the market what it is these days! Well, best of luck. Might think about spending a bit more money on food than on clothes, though, eh?" She smiled at him, bright and guileless, and chuckled. Loki glanced at his clothes. He had not thought them particularly fine, but his tastes had always run a little toward the luxurious. He let his mouth quirk a little, though privately he wondered if he was really so gaunt as that.

"Nana," said Laurie, sounding a little pained. "Not polite."

"Nonsense. I'm old enough to have the privilege of saying what I like." Bethany leaned forward, a curiously intent expression on her face. "So what brings you here, then? You've got a bit of a look. Like them who come to a city looking for some kind of fix for their lives they didn't find somewhere else."

Loki found himself staring at her, quite unable to look away. Her words jarred something in him, and he twitched. "…I don't know," he said, without strictly meaning to. He ought to have had a lie prepared. Again. Ought to have been ready. And he could have blamed it on any number of things, but the truth was that he had done the unforgivable and relaxed. "If I'm looking for something, I don't know what it is," and a moment later wanted to call the words back. Neither of them laughed, though, or looked at him with pity. Laurie, if anything, looked curious (and yet didn't ask). Bethany nodded as though satisfied.

And stood up. "Well," she said. "Luke, are you going to help me with the dishes? House rules."

"Nana!" said Laurie, now definitely sounding appalled, but Loki laughed, surprised, uncertainty still a knot somewhere under his sternum but the easy assumption that he would help reminding him of-

_Imperious as a queen in this her realm, _Loki thought, and perhaps it was better to keep away from that thought, to keep away from the whys and the details and simply keep moving. "Of course," he said, standing with his best and most courtly bow. "I would not dream of abandoning two such fine ladies with all the work."

"Oh, now you're just a flatterer," said Bethany, but she sounded unmistakably pleased. It crossed Loki's mind for a moment that he had been far out of childhood when she had been young. So _brief, _he thought, and wasn't sure if the thought was pity or scorn. Or something else, not quite either_. _

He somewhat regretted his decision when he was elbow deep in suds, but there was a nagging thought at the back of his mind that did not connect until he was drying the last of the dishes. These people knew nothing about him. They had a face, a false name, and they invited him into their home and made him welcome.

There was something suddenly warm about that. As if he were…just anyone.

Loki dropped the towel and took a step back. "Hey," said Laurie, too _close, _and he wheeled, almost smacking into the counter. "—you okay?"

"I've just – remembered something," Loki said. _I'm dangerous. _"I should…I need to go."

"Whoa, whoa," said Laurie, looking confused. "Are you sure you're-"

"Thank you," Loki interrupted. "For your hospitality, for both of your…I am sorry."

"Jesus," Laurie said, dropping her own towel. "Did you remember that the mob has a hit out on you or something? Cool your-"

"It would be best," Loki said, feeling a sudden surge of sick dizziness, "If you forgot I was ever here." They both stared at him, blankly, Bethany already nodding as he could _see _Laurie trying to fight against it, confused, not understanding why. Strong-willed, he thought. Compassionate, to reach out so blindly and easily.

He fled.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Sorry about the late update, folks! I feel I should alert you that updates will probably be slower through to the end of the year, as I am writing a fair number of things for gifts/exchanges etc. that are on a time schedule. But rest assured that this is not going to be abandoned! (At all, ever, I hope.)_

* * *

Loki returned to his room embarrassingly near to exhausted and torn between a feeling of satisfaction at productive work well done and a feeling that he was a horse that had just been put through its paces. He rubbed at his forehead and half smiled.

A curious lot of mortals. Persistent, nearly irritating, woefully ignorant, but not complacent. Not content with the limits they were given. In that way, he thought dryly, almost unnervingly like himself, who had never been satisfied, never content, eternally seeking more. Not like Asgard, steady, stable, eternal perfection.

(Ha.)

Loki tried not to let his mood darken, reining in his thoughts with ruthless force, and opened the door to his room. He stopped in the doorway and pressed his lips together, staring at the occupant already present and standing with his hands behind his back, looking at Loki's one piece of decoration, a print of Escher's _Day and Night_. He turned, likely at Loki's quiet, 'hm.'

"Interesting choice," he remarked, with a little gesture over his shoulder. Loki kept his expression perfectly neutral.

"If this is going to become a habit of yours," Loki said levelly, "I am going to begin to set up an unpleasant surprise for you."

The smile he received in return was pleasantly placid. "I'll keep that in mind." A quick examination of his room revealed nothing out of place. Loki stepped inside and leaned against the wall by the door. An interesting man, Loki thought. He wondered what he would learn, if he went looking.

Something to keep in mind, perhaps.

"It's been a bit," Loki observed. "And here I thought you would be keeping an eye on me."

"I have been," Coulson said. "From a distance. Been busy?" Coulson asked politely, and Loki shrugged one shoulder.

"Certainly not intolerably so."

"Somebody said they saw you wandering off with one of the lab technicians." Loki offered a fractional smile.

"You yourself recommended I…cooperate with them, did you not?" There was an unfortunate itch quivering under his skin. This polite stepping around whatever the true purpose of Coulson's visit might be could be fun, perhaps, but under the circumstances…

It occurred to Loki that he was, perhaps, just the slightest bit tired of intrigue and uncertainty. That part of him missed the solidity and reliability of the life he had begun to craft for himself, unwanted intrusions or no.

But he had committed to this course.

"I guess I did say something like that."

Loki watched Agent Coulson, eyes slightly narrowed. "Though I confess it seems…quiet, after the recent excitement. I must wonder if you have – ah. Decided to remove me from active duty."

"I assure you that's not the case. According to the report you submitted you performed satisfactorily regardless of success. And your account was corroborated by Barton's."

Loki could not keep his eyebrows from jumping up. "Performed satisfactorily?" _You survived, _murmured one thought, only to be followed by another, _but survival might not be a measure of success. _

"So says the official evaluation." He was examining Loki with that strangely inscrutable gaze again, and Loki felt himself fidget, and was promptly annoyed by it.

"Is that what you came to tell me?" Loki made his tone just faintly touched by impatience, and Coulson shook his head, and Loki was trying not to let his growing sense of irritation (unease) show.

"Not so much."

"Then what," he said, a bit more sharply than he meant to. "Whatever your business, I would sooner you-"

"I'm…concerned," Coulson said, cutting him off, sounding anything but concerned, and Loki's temper flared at that but was snuffed out by the next, somewhat baffling words: "That you might think we sent you in on bad intel on purpose."

That drew him up short. Barton, he thought, must have mentioned it. The suspicion had lingered, after all, though he had been careful not to voice it. If it had been, after all, that made it part of the game, and if not then it would not do to appear paranoid. He tried to evaluate the agent's expression and found it irritatingly difficult.

After a moment, Loki straightened and crossed the room and sat down at the chair by his desk, as though untroubled by the second occupant. "Is that so."

"Yes," Coulson said. "That's so."

Loki regarded him out of the corner of his eye, trying to determine what answer was expected, or perhaps what answer would be best. He could not be sure of either. "I concluded," he said finally, keeping his voice neutral, "That you would not risk your Agent Barton in such a fashion. You seem to find him valuable."

Coulson's posture was ramrod straight as he turned to face Loki, managing somehow to look at ease despite the rigidity of his body. "Whatever doubts SHIELD might have about your intentions," he said levelly, "You signed the contract. Which makes you entitled to our protection the same way as the rest of our agents."

Loki did not let his flicker of surprise show on his face. Probably, he should have been insulted at the idea that he would require protection at all. Probably. But he was… "Is it that simple?"

"Barring further complications, yes. Besides," and there was that flicker of very faint amusement again, nearly undetectable, "I get the feeling that trying to stab you in the back wouldn't end well. For us."

Loki could not keep down a sharp-edged smile. "Wise."

"I have that reputation in some circles." Coulson's eyes fixed on Loki. "Is that clear?"

Loki crossed his legs, ankle-to-knee. "You are not going to attempt to eliminate me intentionally."

"No," Coulson confirmed. "We are not." It was, of course, a matter of pragmatics, and of his usefulness. Further, a blatant play for his loyalty. At this stage, knowing even what little they did, of course they would want to tie him to them, and the most effective method of doing so was to appeal to loyalty and self-preservation. _We will protect you even from ourselves. _Obvious. Transparent.

Nonetheless, Loki felt a little pleased in spite of himself. Pathetic weakness, perhaps, to be placated so easily, but the voice that murmured so was quiet and easily ignored.

"Understood," he said, and offered a half smile. "I will keep that in mind."

Coulson nodded, and his gaze moved away, but he did not seem in any hurry to leave. Loki waited. If he had something else to say, no doubt he would get around to it. After a few moments, he retrieved an empty glass and filled it with water from a pitcher on the corner of his desk. He sipped delicately. "And yourself, Agent Coulson? What occupies your days?"

"Same things that usually do," Coulson said. "Keeping things running, organized. Making sure Mr. Stark behaves. Investigating unsubstantiated reports of some kind of massive magnetic disturbance. Sifting through reports."

"A busy schedule. And yet you found time in it for me. Are you so friendly to all your new recruits?"

"Only the ones our tech estimates have enough raw power to take out a city block."

Loki felt his mouth twitch. "Only one?" he said, and then nearly thought better of it, but it won that little flicker of amusement away. He would not regret it too much, and it might easily be taken as a jest. "Fair enough. I will accept your…concern…as touching." He paused. "Was there something else?"

Coulson looked back at him. "You said you didn't choose to come here," said the little man, and sounded for the first time genuinely curious, though faintly. "Where were you trying to get to?"

Loki felt his stomach clench and chuffed a laugh with a bit too much bitterness. "To? Nowhere. Away from, say rather," he said, and almost immediately was irritated with himself. Coulson showed no great reaction, however.

"Away from what?"

Loki looked down at his glass of water and swirled it in a circle. He felt suddenly tired. All the quiet of the past few months and suddenly, in a few days' time… he glanced up and smiled thinly. "Family drama."

"Hm," said Coulson, looking at him with that bland, skeptical stare. Loki held it for a few moments, and then glanced away, toward a blank wall.

"Secrets and lies," he said, finally, fingers toying with the glass. It felt cool against his skin. "And a legacy I could never live up to."

"Ah," said Coulson, and curiously enough, nodded. As though satisfied. "Crash landing on Earth wasn't planned, then?"

"No," Loki said, remembering how he'd felt first opening his eyes and realizing where he was. "No, it was not."

"Mmm," Coulson said, and Loki watched him, attempting to glean something about his thoughts. Ultimately he dismissed the effort, just as the agent turned back to him. "Well, Agent Silver, good to get the chance to talk to you again. Clear up misconceptions."

Loki kept his eyebrows from pulling together. "Indeed."

"I'll leave you to it. And in case you were wondering, I don't think I'll be making a habit of unannounced visitors, though you're welcome to booby trap your room anyways." The man turned and headed for the door, only to stop within the frame of it and glance back.

"You'll do all right here," Agent Coulson said, and Loki glanced at him in surprise, but the small, unflappable man was already gone. Loki looked after him, face relaxing into the slightest of frowns.

~.~

The next day, for lack of anything more entertaining to do with his time, Loki wandered back down to the labs. At the very least, he thought dryly, they were using what minds they had, and that at least made them more interesting than the alternative company. Which was...more than likely another afternoon by himself.

He bypassed the keycode Chandra had used to access the lock with little more than a touch and a slight pulse of power, and slipped into the lab. It looked much the same as it had before – chaos just on this side of organized. He could hear Chandra's strident voice barking something that sounded like a scolding.

Sliding himself out of notice, Loki wandered in. He peered over shoulders and examined various equipment which use was opaque to him. He observed largely incomprehensible experiments over various shoulders, discovered one technician playing some sort of game on her computer, and observed an argument on the relative merits of beatles versus rolling stones, which remained curiously compelling until Loki gathered that they were discussing music and not, in fact, natural phenomena.

He found his attention most drawn,however, by a curious looking apparatus in one corner, sitting on a table it had to itself. Amid the clutter, that seemed remarkable enough. A metallic ovoid of remarkable smoothness that seemed to hum to his senses, and after his eyes strayed to it for the umpteenth time, he wandered over.

After examining it for a few moments, he reached out and touched it with one finger. All his hair seemed to stand on end at once, and Loki jerked away, startled. Something was nagging at him, but he could not quite find it. Like a memory just out of reach.

And regardless, he was curious. It was certainly not like the others in the room.

Frowning at the device, a moment later he dropped the working keeping him unnoticed and snagged the sleeve of the nearest passing minion, a man unremarkable to Loki's eyes. Lab technicians, was that was Coulson had called them? Regardless.

"What is this," he asked, indicating it.

"Oh," he said. "That's," and then appeared to register Loki's face and jumped. "—when'd you come in?"

"A few minutes ago," Loki said, easily. "You really ought to mind your surroundings more closely, much of this looks terribly fragile." He released the sleeve he had claimed. "Your name?"

"Ryan," said the boy, after a moment of staring blankly. "Ryan Welch."

"Good day, Ryan Welch." Lok offered him a smile that he thought was admirably patient. "Well, what does this artifact of yours do?"

"Uh." The young man seemed nervous, lifting one hand to scratch at the back of his head and then dropping it as though he'd been scolded. "We don't actually know." Loki raised his eyebrows and waited. "—well. It's not really ours. It's an. Um. Artifact."

"Artifact," Loki repeated. He looked back at it again. Between that hum to which he suspected the mortals in the room were utterly insensate and the isolation of the thing, he could make a guess. "By which you mean…not of Earthly origin?"

The boy seemed curiously uncomfortable. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess, that."

"Hmm," Loki said, thoughtfully. "Have you touched it?"

"Yeah," the young man said, with a fidget. "When we were examining it. Feels kind of weird, like static electricity."

Static electricity, Loki thought, was the sharp, quick shock created by fleece slippers on carpet. Not in the least the same. "Mm. I see."

"Do you…know something about it?" Welch sounded almost hopeful. Loki raised an eyebrow at him, and then looked back at the device. He did know something, he was sure of it, but could not quite recall…

"If I may-" he started to say, and was interrupted, to a flash of annoyance that Loki quickly pushed down.

"—hold on, is that - Agent Silver? How did you get in here? Ryan, did you-" The boy quailed, and Loki bit down an urge to laugh that was, perhaps, unkind.

"No," he said, with an easy smile. "I let myself in, quite without help. A pleasant day to you, Miss Sheffer."

"_Doctor _Sheffer." She frowned at him, and Loki kept his face placid with only a bit of effort. "That door is locked to anyone not possessing the proper clearance code, which I'm pretty sure you don't have."

Loki lifted a hand and waggled his fingers at her. "I have certain advantages others do not." He nodded at the item that had drawn his attention. "It's an interesting object you've acquired there."

Chandra's arms crossed. "Recognize it?"

Loki considered her, for a moment. "I might," he said, finally. "I suspect I do." Chandra's eyes narrowed, and Loki offered her a bit of a smile. She pursed her lips.

"What is it, then?"

"I can hardly be sure unless I examine it properly. I am not certain what it is, only that I have seen it before."

Chandra's eyes narrowed another hair. "What does that entail?"

Loki shrugged. "Guessing, mostly. Or – if you will – testing a hypothesis. If I am correct, there should be no harm done. If I am not…well, likely nothing will happen at all." He could see her struggling with that. Curiosity and her reluctance to share. Loki waited. They were drawing attention from other eyes, too, curious sideways glances poorly hidden.

"Um," said the boy he'd been speaking to. "It's been four months and we still don't have any clue about what it is. If he…if Agent Silver can tell us, it'd be nice to know?"

Loki caught only a fraction of the glare Chandra shot at the unfortunate Ryan, and saw him flinch. But then she looked back at him, and nodded, very slightly. "Okay," she said. "Fine. Do your…whatever."

"Work my magic?" Loki could not resist saying, to receive his own withering glare. Loki bowed formally to her and gave her his best charming smile. "Gracious lady, I shall see to it at once."

He could feel her and the boy Ryan both watching as he turned back to the machine. He knew he had seen one like it before, something similar, but a long time ago, nearly lost to memory.

"How _did _you bypass the card reader?" Chandra's question registered only vaguely.

"A gift for mimicry," Loki said, absently, and reached out to lay his fingertips against it again, to that same sense of current coursing through him, though to his senses there was no true flow of energy, not of the kind he was familiar with. Something else. So tantalizingly familiar, and if he could remember...

"There's something we thought might be a lock mechanism on right side," Ryan volunteered, a bit less hesitantly. Or maybe writing…"

"That's not really an answer," Chandra objected. Loki exhaled through his nose.

"I begin to appreciate the frustration of unending questions," he said mildly, moving his fingers over the smooth metal of the thing's surface around to the right side, feeling for what the boy had mentioned. His fingers caught on the irregularity soon enough, and almost at the same moment, the strange sensation stopped, as did the humming. He paused, frowning, and at the feeling under his fingers, the patterns of the metal seeming to twist on itself in a strange way, it came back to him.

_Sit with me. Listen. _

"What," said Chandra, almost immediately.

"I have seen this before," he said, pulling his hand away. "It's not a lock. Not really. Nor does it require any of my magic to open."

"Where is itfrom?" That was Chandra.

"Not here." Loki stepped back. "Quite a long way from here, in fact. Or from anywhere."

"Is it a weapon?" Someone else, and Loki wondered how many of them were watching now. He was tempted to turn and leave them all to puzzle at it on their own. "What's inside it?"

"As I said," Loki said, stepping back with a gesture. "You need only ask politely." He looked to Chandra. "If you would like to do the honors, perhaps?"

Chandra was eyeing him with something like wariness. "…just ask?" she said, sounding dubious.

"Politely," Loki repeated. "It only opens once." _I don't understand. Hush, child, you don't need to. _

Chandra stared at him, and it was Ryan who stepped forward. "Um," he said. "I guess. If you wouldn't mind opening?" He blushed, brightly, and someone at the back tittered. For a moment, silence, and then the metalic shell clicked once, twice, and the metal surface shimmered into transparency. Ryan jerked back.

"Wait," Loki said, flatly. Another click, and then it began to sing.

He remembered that voice. Clear, sweet and bright, in no language known, and exquisitely sad. A recording, Loki was perfectly aware, but it didn't sound it. "What is it," a redheaded technician asked, and her voice sounded harsh and discordant.

"Hush," said Loki, not quite sharply, and there was silence. The last one of these to come to Asgard had been many years ago, when he was still small, and he remembered Frigga pulling him onto her knee and telling him the story. They had sat in her garden and listened to that ancient voice sing, and Loki remembered weeping.

His heart hurt. _Remember this, Loki, _she'd said, quiet and sad and for the first time he could remember, old. _All things must end. Whether good or evil, all things must end._

It was not so long, in the end, and as the last notes faded, so too did the translucency, and it was once again a plain, metal container, but no longer humming. Its message given.

They were all looking to him, now. Loki felt his shoulders twitch.

"A history," he said. "A record. Or so I was told, once. That they belonged to a very old people, long dead, even their name lost to memory. That they knew their own end before it came, and sang their story so that they would not be forgotten. I remember being told that these capsules drifted through space until finding a planet where their story could be heard."

"What's the story?" someone asked, and Loki did not bother to look at them. His eyes were on the dull metal. He felt the corner of his mouth tug.

"That is the irony," he murmured. "No one knows. The language is forgotten. A song sung to nobody at all. I have heard some deem it arrogance, that they would assume their language would endure even if they did not." He shrugged one shoulder. "Or else hope."

"And that's all anyone knows?" Incredulous. Loki swallowed the urge to laugh. Remembered – _but doesn't anyone know any more? _

_It may be nothing but a legend, in the end. _

"That is, yes. That is all the light I am afraid I can shed on this mystery of yours. Not terribly useful, I am afraid." He threw his audience a crooked smile. "I hope you will not hold it against me. Now if you will excuse me, I daresay…" He slipped out, with fluid, easy grace. They did not attempt to summon him back.

He went up to the surface levels of the complex and navigated his way to an exit. Stepping outdoors, he broke into a sweat almost immediately, and nearly turned back inside. He held his ground.

Strangeness and familiarity and strangeness again. He wondered if Frigga had that memory as clearly as he did. If she thought of it even now.

Ultimately the heat was too much. Loki retreated back to his his relief, there was no surprise occupant, though for one absurd moment, he was almost disappointed. Coulson, he had begun to think, made surprisingly good company.

On a whim, he padded over to his computer and blinked to see one more email than he'd expected in his Inbox. _From: M. Fairfax, _it said, and Loki blinked, and opened the message.

_Dear Luke, _it read. _I am not very good at this emailing, but you did not leave a forwarding address for me. I don't know what the rules are – this new job of yours seems very mysterious, and I might only be your landlady. But I know that sometimes a friendly voice can be good to hear. I wanted you to know that we are thinking of you, and hoping you are settling in well. Angela and I feel very lucky to have met you._ It went on from there, little details, trivial things, and Loki caught himself smiling, just a fraction. He could almost hear her voice.

A moment later, another message appeared above Ms. Fairfax's. He did not recognize the address, and opened it, only to blink at it in surprise.

_Thanks for the concert. Mind coming around for a bit next Tuesday? Got a few more questions. –C. _

Brusque, he thought. Blunt, direct. (All those eyes, curious, attentive. Perhaps it was only knowing no better, but to them…)

Loki wrote a swift response before closing his computer and plucking up his book of the moment. _Somehow I'm not surprised, _he wrote. _I'll see you on Tuesday. Don't bother to leave the door unlocked. _

**Interlude (VII)**

_You should not have done that. _

The thought nagged at the back of his mind, troubled him. He still did not feel calm, even once back in his rooms. Paced back and forth at the foot of his bed – remade, he noticed, and not by him, which just made uneasiness prickle further along his spine though he knew it was only housekeeping – and flicked his thumbnail against the other fingers of his right hand.

_It was a thoughtless, foolish reaction. Childish. Are you truly so pathetic as that-_

(Yes, he thought, yes, that probably was the answer, that he was so _pathetic._)

_They were kind to you. A fine way to repay such kindness. _

Loki squeezed his eyes closed. He could still see the look on Laurie's face. Her surprise and confusion and-

_You weak, fractured thing. How did you ever think that you would survive here?_ _See how easily you break and burn even the best of things offered to you? _

The room seemed too tight, too close. Stifling. On instinct, he twisted himself out of there and into elsewhere, and almost fell onto the grass, stomach lurching with nausea. He took a few sharp, deep breaths of cooling night air, and sank to sit cross-legged, palms pressed flat against the earth.

_Is this how you are going to live? Sneaking, crawling from shadow to shadow…_

No, he thought, viciously, defiantly. No. I am not broken, I am not _done. _

_This is another realm, now sundered from Asgard. Another beginning. You need not… _

Why, he wondered, then, why _had _he? It ought to have been welcome, their openness, ought to have been his due. He knew things they could never hope to understand and had grasped power they could not even think to touch. _Dangerous, _he'd thought, but that was foolish. Of course he was _dangerous, _as any predator among lesser beasts might be. But that was hardly…

_You chafe at indifference yet reject kindness. What is it you think you want, Laufeyson? Do you know yourself?_

His thoughts felt like a tangled snarl he couldn't find the end of. He pressed the heel of one hand to his eyes, the meal he'd just eaten too heavy in his stomach.

"Hey man, got a light?"

Loki bit back his automatic snappish reply enough to simply say, "No."

"Bummer." Silence, for a few moments. "Hey. You okay?"

He did not bother to try to silence his sharp and jagged laugh. "Many seem terribly eager to ask me that question of late. I have no idea what they expect to hear." A few more moments of silence, and whoever his interrupter was, they wandered away, leaving him alone once more. It was a quiet night. Pleasant. Warm.

He took a deep breath and tried to center his thoughts. So he had erred. Acted unbecomingly. _It will not happen again. _Was that not enough? What more…

But it was not simply error, it was panic, it was _fear. _What had he thought would happen, what had he expected, and how did he think to make his way in this world if he fled so from all companionship?

Perhaps, he thought with a brittle kind of anger, that was it, that the fault had never been in others but in him, and the loneliness that had plagued him was only his own isolation.

He shoved himself to his feet and pushed all thoughts from his mind. Inhaled deeply. _Keep moving, _he thought. As he had thought, when first opening his eyes on this his new life. _Keep moving. Do what you must. _

_Try again. And again. And again. This is an entire realm. You have only just begun. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Let's not talk about how long it's been since the last update? All I have to say is broken wrist! and schoolwork! and being grabbed by the throat by self indulgent oneshot/continuation ideas! and honestly I am very sorry. Hopefully the next update (and future updates) will not be so long in coming. Hopefully._

_Once again, my undying love and gratitude to zaataronpita, without whom I would either be a crying mess or this story would be an incoherent blob, or possibly both._

* * *

Loki suspected that Agent Jason Ford had been chosen for his sheer, unassuming nonoffensiveness. Perhaps a deliberate contrast to Barton. Loki appreciated the difference. The man did not, at least, seem overly inclined to look askance at Loki. Among SHIELD's field agents that seemed to be rare.

He was occasionally tempted to do something based solely on the fact that a lot of them seemed to be waiting for him to bite. Comparatively, Ford was almost talkative. As they were traveling for some incomprehensible reason in the mundane way to their destination, they had time for it.

Though Loki did not find the experience of flying any more pleasant the second time around.

Ford made a fair distraction, fortunately, or Loki thought he would perhaps have done something reflexive, unfortunate, and probably damaging to the helicopter.

"You haven't been off the SHIELD base yet?" He exclaimed, sounding incredulous, after mentioning a pub that Loki had to admit to not having attended.

"I was given to understand that I was on probabtion," Loki said, a bit stiffly. Ford shook his head.

"I knew that, but that doesn't mean you have to stay within base limits all the time. There's a town a few miles out, and so long as someone knows where you are I don't see why you couldn't do a bit of exploring. Better food, for one."

Loki could not quite keep his nose from wrinkling. "That notion appeals more than slightly."

"Yeah," said Ford. "I bet. Hey, here's a deal. After this is done, before heading back, we go out for drinks."

Loki gave him a sharp, startled look. "You do not have…other plans?"

"Nope," said Ford, almost cheerfully. "The wife doesn't expect me back until late, and I haven't been in weeks. So why not?"

_I am not the best of company? _Loki thought, but did not say. "Very well," he said, slowly. "I suppose a change of scenery that is not…mission related…might well be pleasant."

"It's a deal, then," Ford said, and then settled back in his chair. "You know, for all the talk," he added, after a moment, "You're not such a bad guy."

Loki could not quite keep himself from a flickering half smile.

"We're here," their pilot called. Loki stood, swaying just a little with the motion of the craft as it began to descend. Ford stood with him.

"Let's make this smooth," Ford said. "Maybe we can get back for happy hour, huh?"

Loki had no notion what that meant, but allowed himself an indulgent smile. "Maybe."

~.~

_You are just, _Coulson had said, _acquiring information. _

_We have most of what we need to know_, Coulson had said, sliding the file across the desk. _Should be straightforward enough. _Some matter, Loki had gathered, of weapons, and people who should not have them having them, and what seemed to him overall somewhat mundane.

He was going to learn, Loki decided, not to make these judgment calls.

"You are," the man in front of him drawled, "an interesting one."

Gabriel Fossett, Loki thought he remembered. Ringleader of yet another thuggish cult. Loki was beginning to wonder how many there were on Midgard.

His suit, Loki caught himself observing, was embarrassingly shabby.

Loki was, of course, well familiar with the tendency of the best-laid plans to go awry very quickly. Perhaps, he thought with a short burst of bitterness, overly familiar. It was beginning to become a slightly disturbing trend.

"Yes," Gabriel said. "Very interesting indeed."

He could break the bonds they had placed on him, metal or not. He might even be able to do so and reach Ford before the gun on him might fire. And if he did not, what was one mortal life anyway? (He asked you to go out with him. Invited you. _Not such a bad guy._ Loki felt the smallest possible twinge of guilt.

And then, of course, there was the prospect of fighting his way free of whatever resistance they put up, and that seemed…tedious, somewhat less than expedient, and also probably unlikely to get him the information that Coulson wished him to retrieve.

Instead he donned his best smile and remarked, "I'm so pleased you find me so."

"What is it? Super strength? You one of those X-Men?"

Loki did not know what that was supposed to mean, and so ignored it in favor of tilting his head back and affecting a bored expression that had always infuriated various courtiers attempting to curry favor. _Do go on, _it said, _I needed to sleep today. _

"No," he said, tapping fingers against his thigh. "SHIELD doesn't usually hire mutants." He narrowed his eyes at Loki, who looked back at him placidly. "How did you get in?"

"Relatively easily," Loki said, with a smile. He was not concerned yet. Merely frustrated, and displeased, and he ought to have expected the presence of some kind of subtler alarm system than the ones he had found and disabled prior to acquiring entrance.

A lesson, he decided, to remember.

"My men on the doors swore they didn't see anyone." They hadn't. They'd both followed someone in, unseen. Apparently the sensors were smarter than men.

"Perhaps they ought to watch more closely."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Are you some kind of telepath?"

"Do you want me to tell you what you are thinking?" Loki said, tipping his head slightly to the side, still keeping his tone airily flippant. Within his own thoughts, he was flipping through and considering potential escape plans, one after another, attempting to find a way to complete the mission they had been given as well. "For I doubt it is much of substance."

They did not know his magic, or at least had not seen it. He hadn't used it to fight, not with the suddenness of their apprehension. If he could use it here, without being noticed or identified as such…there was a spell to loosen the speaker's tongue, and while it as often as not only revealed perverted fancies, every so often something useful spilled from loose lips.

He had half formed the spell when Gabriel stepped forward and took his chin, tilted his head to the side like he might read something in Loki's eyes. Loki stiffened. "You talk a lot for a spy. I don't think that's what you are, though. Not the usual SHIELD material, anyway. Not like him." He jerked his head in Ford's direction.

"Ought I to be flattered?" Loki said, and let a caustic note slide into his tone that said _no. _Gabriel seemed amused, but he stepped back and drew his hand away. His amusement, Loki found, was irritating. Though certainly less so than that proprietary, over-familiar touch. Loki wondered briefly if – but no. That was too distasteful to even consider.

"You could," Fosset said. He slid his hands into his pockets and smiled a little more in a way that left Loki with an unaccountably uneasy feeling. "I wouldn't count on it, though. Whatever you are, we're going to find out."

"Oh," Loki said, "You are?"

"Without question." The man produced a switchblade and flicked it out in a motion so far from intimidating that Loki swallowed the urge to snicker. He leaned in. "So what kind of freak are you?" he asked.

The world seemed to still, for a moment. His amusement died an unpleasant death within him. And that word, that word crawled down Loki's throat and curdled in his stomach. _Monster. _His thoughts froze. Iced over. _They can see it, _he thought raggedly, _everyone can see it, _and knew it didn't make sense but already-

_I always knew I was not one of you. I simply did not know how much. _

He was speaking before the thought had fully crystallized in his mind. "You're a businessman, yes?" Loki said, and almost did not recognize his own voice. Too silky for the cold, choppy sea of his thoughts. "I can appreciate that." He smiled, and it felt wide and raw. "I'll make you an offer, then."

"An offer?" The man looked like he wanted to laugh, but straightened, the knife still out. "What do you have to bargain with?"

"Your life," Loki said, easily. "I will offer you your life, for our freedom." He could feel it vibrating in him, some unidentifiable thing, crawling under his skin. He saw Ford's head lift slightly out of the corner of his eye, the man staring at him as though he'd gone mad. Loki did not so much as glance in his direction.

It was not even an effort to not think of him, in the hate-filled buzz of his thoughts.

Gabriel's grin faded for a moment before it picked up again. "Pretty big words for someone without much room to maneuver. You make a move, we shoot him." He jerked his head at Ford, and Loki smiled. He kept his eyes cold, and the man didn't quite recoil, but he saw it.

"I am capable of recognizing an acceptable loss."

Ford was staring like he'd never seen Loki before now, and like he sorely wanted to panic. Loki couldn't really blame him, not really, but his heart was thudding in his ears and his focus had narrowed to one target only. Gabriel's tongue flicked out and he licked his lips. Nervousness. Loki savored that. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

_Yes, _Loki thought viciously. _Prove how you don't fear me. Show fear and lose your power. So come in close, close enough for me to-_

"You expect me to believe," he said, slowly, "That you can actually break steel-"

_Close enough, _Loki thought, coldly, and moved. A single spell to shatter the metal binding his hands and he reached out with the same stroke to the man holding a gun to Ford's head. _Your skin is on fire, _he shoved at him, _melting from your bones, _and if it was too clumsy to stick it was enough to get the man's hand to jerk away, enough for Loki to grab Gabriel's head between his hands.

"Any of them move," he said, deadly soft, "And I will break your neck. Not kill you, mind. I doubt your men will think much of a helpless wreck on the floor of this _fine _establishment."

Nobody moved. _Loyalty, _Loki thought, _how touching. _There was a cold rage burning through his insides. _Foolish_, he thought, but telling himself so banished nothing. _It's only one word. Barton asked…_

_Mutant, _he had said. Not _freak. _Not-

_(blue washing up his arm what are you what are you no this isn't this isn't-)_

How long it had been since he'd thought of…since he'd let his mind go to…

"I warned you," Loki said. "Your life, or our freedom. Now I think I will have both. Does that suit you?" The man was trembling. Pathetic. Weak. (Like you.) Ford, he knew, was watching. Good. Let him watch. Let them all see what they had on a leash, let them _fear-_

_Is that what you want? _

"I have money," Gabriel said. "I can double whatever you're getting from the government, triple it-" Fear almost rolling like a scent off his skin, and suddenly Loki felt a sick surge of disgust.

_Such strength, to frighten ants. What proof of your power. _

_No. _The thought intruded, though quietly. _No. That is not how this game is played. This is not how _your _game is played. Not with brute force. With finesse. _The man was almost whimpering. Loki took a deep breath through his nose and let it out, and gathered his power to him.

"We are done here," he said, and put force behind the words, letting it roll out in a wave. Gabriel's eyes rolled up in his head almost immediately and he slumped, but Loki did not relinquish his hold until the other guards had dropped as well. Then he paced over to Ford and snapped his bonds with a sharp wave of his hand. The agent's eyes were not quite wide, but Loki could almost hear him thinking.

He wondered how much he'd been told, and flashed a thin smile. "Come," he said, "We still have information to retrieve, do we not?"

He was still humming, almost, on a razor fine edge. But Loki would just have to face that later.

Loki glanced back, and then summoned Gabriel's appearance for himself and slipped into it. He did not look to see the way in which Ford was watching him. "Let us see what we can find," he said in a voice not his own.

~.~

Ford said no more than two or three words to him the full rest of the duration of their mission. Loki did not let it trouble him, did not let it worry him, determinedly did _not. _In his borrowed skin, and absent inconvenient interruptions, they moved through the facility unhindered, gained the information they were looking for and then some. To their captors, they would appear to have merely escaped, the memory of magic fuzzy and perhaps confusing enough to be dismissed by some mundane explanation. It was not, ultimately, such a poor result. Perhaps even for the best. Fond as Loki was of eavesdropping from shadows, more often than not the things people had to say were less than useful.

(And yet like barbs, like thorns catching in his skin and sticking – _what kind of freak are you? _Nothing but interest, of course, curiosity, curiosity like his technicians with their endless questions and preposterous notions about the order of things, not horror or disgust or-)

Loki retreated to his rooms the moment he got the chance and closed the door firmly behind him. He would be heard if he screamed as he wanted to, loud enough to leave his throat raw. A new life, he thought, he had told himself he was starting a new life, and his old kept coming back. _Here, _his old kept coming back. When his life had been quiet and contained and confined to the simplest of things-

_Because you could ignore it. Because you did not have to face it, or yourself, or anything. Because you fell, and then you ran, and then you kept running. You covered the wounds but they are still there. _He had reacted emotionally, irrationally, and without self-control.

He paced around the narrow confines of his room and finally sat down, forcing himself to stillness. _I chose this, _he reminded himself. _Chose to remain on Midgard. Chose to work with these mortals. Chose to take a risk. Would you pretend that you did not think there would be – difficulties? _

"What happened," a voice asked from the doorway, and Loki started, and immediately felt a twinge of sharp irritation with himself for not hearing anyone approach, or the door open. He ought to have locked it.

It was Coulson, though. His – his _minder_. Loki quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Is my report required already?" _They will cast you out, _the thought whispered across the back of his mind, _or try to cage you. _He shoved the thought down.

"Not formally, no."

"Informally?"

"Not that either." Coulson paused, seeming to consider him. "Ford requested he not accompany you again. Barton didn't make the same request but heavily implied it. You're not making friends in the field, Agent Silver."

"That was never particularly one of my skills," Loki said with a sharp smile.

"Dr. Sheffer seems to like you." That startled Loki, and he blinked at Coulson for a moment before schooling his face to stillness.

"Does she? That comes as a surprise." Loki folded his hands together and leaned back in his chair. "Are you so concerned about my social life?"

"Ford said that you nearly compromised the mission." Coulson's gaze on him was level and calm. "That you reacted…unexpectedly violently. I want to know why."

It was a reasonable request. Answering it locked in Loki's throat. "What is a mutant?" he asked, abruptly, instead of answering. He half expected Coulson to object, to insist that he account for himself at once. He did not.

"Mutants? Huh. I guess I didn't think that…they're humans that are born, sometimes, with…augmented abilities. Physical, mental, as far as we can tell they run the whole range of possibilities. They are…" He seemed to be considering. "Their legal status is…complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Their community and the government are not on very good terms. One faction is in outright war with normal human society. Some people say they are the next stage of human evolution. It creates…problems."

"And how do most see them?" Loki asked, quietly.

"Depends. As with anything, some people are more tolerant than others. Some people get scared, others get angry, some people create cults worshiping them as some kind of gods." Loki could not help a snort, and Coulson glanced at him briefly before shaking his head. "Most people, most of the time, don't bother to think about it. It doesn't touch them, so why bother?"

Loki nodded. He propped his chin on his hands, mind circling back and back and back until he chased the entire flock of thoughts away. "It will not happen again," he said, finally.

"I'd still like to know what happened in the first place. This is a stressful job. You're new at it. Part of my job is keeping an eye on my agents."

"You think," Loki said, infusing his voice with obvious scorn, "I am cracking under the strain?"

"No," said Coulson, clearly. "But every agent has limits. I need to know yours."

Loki stared at him, not quite blankly. His first urge was to snap that he was not _weak, _that he knew his own limits and needed no…but the words died on his tongue before they even reached his lips. He would not go so far as to call it concern, but it was nonetheless…

"He made a particular remark that…irritated me," Loki said, finally. Coulson was regarding him with that placid yet strangely intent gaze.

"Mmm." Loki expected further questioning, but it was not forthcoming. He kept himself still, deliberately resisting the urge to fidget.

"What do you know," Loki said suddenly, examining his hands resting loosely linked on his legs, "Of what I am?" The question came half on impulse, and the moment it emerged he half wanted to take it back.

Coulson scrutinized him. "Not much. Basic blood workup which just tells us that you're a fair bit off normal, further than mutant would account for. Resources – aside from falling out of the sky - suggest off planet but we don't have the knowledge to figure where."

"That does not trouble you?"

"No," Coulson said, placidly. "Not until it becomes a security risk, and I'm hoping that we're going to steer clear of interplanetary wars. I make use of the resources I have, regardless of origin. You aren't our first…repatriated agent."

"'Repatriated?'" Loki could not stop the amused twitch of his mouth. That was, he supposed, one way of looking at it. He paused, and then smoothed his voice to level. "I feel I ought to…apologize. My behavior was a…shameful loss of control. I do not wish you to…regret your decision." Coulson seemed faintly amused, but it was so brief and so slight that Loki thought he might have imagined it.

"I don't yet. It does occur to me, though," he said after a moment, "That we may be…misusing your talents."

Loki blinked. "Oh?"

"It's something for me to consider," Coulson said, and then shifted slightly, making direct eye contact. "Chandra tells me she's made some interesting progress on her studies of your…abilities. I don't understand most of the science of it, but she seems pretty impressed."

"She overestimates herself," Loki said, coolly. "Her understanding is still minimal at best."

"Nonetheless. I appreciate you cooperating with her work."

Loki shifted his weight, slightly. "It is not such an imposition," he said, deliberately regal. Smothering the urge to ask what she had said of him. "Is that all?"

"For the moment, I believe it is." The man regarded him a moment more, and then stepped back. Loki again caught that brief, faint hint of a smile. "You should try working with Agent Romanov," he said. "I think you might get along. I'll see to organizing that."

Loki wondered if mortals would ever cease to surprise him. Strange and unpredictable and with such a curious overabundance of – compassion? No, that was not quite the right word. "You are a strange man," Loki said, slowly, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," Coulson said, mild as ever, and retreated, closing the door quietly behind him.

He dreamed that night of a summer day, of being young and climbing one of Idunn's trees, reaching, stretching for one golden fruit just out of arm's reach. Thor below him. "Loki, hurry!" he cried, and Loki stretched out his hand further and then was falling –

-and falling and falling, and was never going to stop.

But he wasn't afraid.

**Interlude (VIII)**

He moved cities.

It seemed only sensible. He should not have remained so close to the site of his fall to begin with. If anyone came looking –

(_No one will come looking for you_.)

He caught a train (a curious method of traveling, but the novelty made it exciting) to the south and disembarked at his whim, summarily keeping himself beneath the notice of his traveling companions. Loki listened to their conversations, idle, trivial things, and tried not to let his thoughts spin off into dangerous directions.

The new Midgardian center was much like the old. Busy, full of people, quick-moving and never still. He walked for a time, aimlessly; found himself some lodgings, and primarily observed.

He spoke to no one. He dreamed fragmented dreams that made little or no sense and absorbed a thousand trivial details. It was, at least, an effective distraction. He puzzled out the workings of the computer devices that humans seemed remarkably fond of, and opened a new font of information to his perusal. Almost overwhelming, but that Loki could bury himself in it and was content to do so.

Currency. Culture. Tradition. Politics. He was learning an entire realm, and sometimes it was enough to make his head want to spin.

They were small people, petty people of short lives and limited vision. They rushed through their lives in a hurry perhaps understandable given the shortness of their time. They had little natural talent, were startlingly breakable, were prone to turning on each other one day and defending a stranger the next for reasons that seemed entirely arbitrary.

He watched, from a cautious distance, and his mind kept flickering back-

_What about them so caught your attention? _He'd wanted to know, _how did they change you, when all I did was nothing to you? _ He still wondered. And yet he…

_They are clever, in their limited fashion. They know they have limits and yet seek to reach beyond are adaptable. Their constant rush means they are never stagnant. Asgard fears change. Midgard embraces it. _

He watched them mill through their lives, busy and ever so slightly frantic; closed his eyes and let himself breathe their rhythms and their habits as he moved through them at a careful distance.

_They can change, _he thought, watching a program on the television in his room, not sure whether to be fascinated by the novelty or bored by the trite story. _They can you dare do less?_


	9. Chapter 9

"I feel," Loki said, "remarkably foolish."

"You look absolutely dignified," said one of the technicians fluttering around him, "Promise." Roslyn, he thought he remembered. He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious. "Just hold still."

Loki exhaled through his nose and cast his eyes at the complicated apparatus that she was connecting him to, that Loki thought infinitely more interesting than whatever small thing they were trying to work out today. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

"Because you like me?" Roslyn was busily connecting a last few cords. Guy was hovering over her shoulder until she swatted him away.

"Doubtful. I don't like any of you."

"Oh, well. It was a thought." Roslyn turned around and pushed her hair back behind her ears. It was a nervous gesture, for all her cheerful energy. It was funny, he thought, how he'd begun to know them: Roslyn's tendency to fret, Marcus's enthusiastic fondness for a TV series he kept insisting Loki would enjoy. When Chandra was snappish she could be appeased by fresh fruit, though not apples, and given the chance Richard would argue about anything with anyone. Small details, not worth much, but he couldn't help filing them away.

For all their curiosity and fumbling and inane questions, there was a strange kind of comfort here.

Most of the time.

"And this is to…what?"

"Brain waves. Measuring them. It's pretty basic, but…the other equipment we use for this is pretty bulky. Also expensive, and apparently you give off some kind of funny low level interference…"

Loki frowned. "I what?"

"Low level interference, electrical or…this is what Nelson's been talking to you about, isn't it?"

"Is it? He has an unfortunate tendency to ramble and I tend to largely cease to pay attention ten minutes in." Roslyn looked briefly torn between wincing and laughing.

"Yeah, he…does that. Okay, I think everything's…try to hold still, all right? Now just…wait. I need a baseline reading. Eyes open." Her voice gained in confidence, he noticed, when she was actually doing things. He doubted she was even aware of it.

"Hey! Silver!" Chandra's ever piercing, impressively modulated tones broke into his half-formed thoughts. "Coulson wants you."

Roslyn's expression was almost crushed. "Can it wait?"

"Didn't sound like it."

Loki began delicately extricating himself from the entanglement of wires, plucking the electrodes free from his hair, noting the stickiness of them with distaste. "My apologies. Duty calls, it would seem." Or he hoped, anyway. The need to do something itched at him like a stinging fly.

"You'll be back," Roslyn said, and there was a hint of demand to it. More confidence indeed. He sketched her a bow.

"Of course. And may our next soiree remain…uninterrupted." He pretended, politely, not to notice her flush, though he grinned a little to himself as he slipped out of the lab and headed for the elevators instead of using his magic. Coulson had politely requested that he stop teleporting within the facility, as it apparently caused any delicate equipment in the area to short out. Including, Coulson had noted, everything he used to keep track of agents in the field.

Loki had taken the hint.

He rode the elevator up and strode down the hallway to Coulson's office, which was tucked in an out of the way corner in a remarkably small space. The man went through so much effort to remain unnoticed that Loki was periodically inclined to wonder how much Fury truly ran things. The door, to his surprise, was already open, and Agent Coulson was not alone.

Loki stopped in the doorway. "If I'd known there was company I would have come better prepared," he said, smoothly. Slender, a great deal shorter than himself, and not wearing the usual uniform. He might have mistaken her for inconsequential if it weren't for the fact that he could see her giving him the same looking over that he was giving her.

"Come in," said Coulson, unconcerned as ever. "And shut the door." Loki pulled the door closed behind him, but kept his back close to it, and gave Coulson a look he hoped communicated his irritation at being taken off guard. He had almost never been fond of surprises, and the fact that this was likely a deliberately calculated one did not make it any better. Quite the opposite, really.

"Are you going to introduce me?"

She stood up, and that was the giveaway. Graceful, sure, and with an unmistakable deadly edge; he could almost be impressed. "Agent Romanov," she said, eyes on him thoroughly cool and dispassionate. After a moment Loki decided not to offer her a bow, choosing instead to incline his head. He remembered that name.

Wasn't _that _interesting.

"Agent Silver, then. You will not offer me the honor of a first name?"

The smile she flashed was quick and sharp. "Maybe later." She looked back at Coulson, and he caught something passing between them unspoken.

Loki felt a slight prickle along his nerves, and pushed it down. He strode over to the unoccupied chair and sprawled in it. "I presume you summoned me here because you have something for me to do. At a guess, with Miss Romanov, who I recall you mentioned." He noted the slight twitch of her mouth at the 'miss,' and did not allow himself to be amused.

"It's not clear at this point," Romanov said, crossing her arms. "But I'd rather be prepared than encounter any surprises. Coulson thinks your skill set could be of use to me."

"In?"

"For now," she said, with another sidelong glance at Coulson, "Ornamentation. I'm attending a function and I am supposed to have a male escort." Loki could not decide if she was displeased or amused, which was intriguing in itself. There was a short list of people whose facial expressions he struggled to read.

"And that is me?" Loki said. The look Coulson gave him was not particularly appreciative of his tone.

"I told you I think you and Agent Romanov would work well together, Silver. Romanov's usual partner is on another assignment and you were unoccupied. Besides, I get the feeling you'd do better than most at fitting in at this kind of party."

"I think I'll choose to be flattered," Loki said, and let himself be gratified by that flicker of amusement that was still all he'd won from Coulson thus far. He turned to Romanov. "Your usual partner?"

"You've met." Now she was definitely amused, if only slightly, and, he suspected, a little at his expense. He did not let that trouble him.

"Barton," Loki guessed. "Ford seems altogether too…docile."

The corners of her mouth twitched very slightly. "He might have mentioned you."

His smile was deliberately a little too toothy. "I'm sure it was entirely concerned with my winning personality."

Romanov didn't even bat an eyelash. "Certainly."

"All right," Coulson cut in before Loki could answer, "Much as I understand that the banter is a traditional part of getting-to-know-you games…on task."

"I'm always on task," Loki murmured. Romanov made a peculiar noise, but when he looked in her direction her expression was impassive and her gaze perfectly level on his. After a moment, she sat down as well, and crossed one leg demurely over the other.

"It's relatively short notice. Tomorrow night." Perhaps he imagined the challenge in her expression.

"I need little in the way of preparation." How much, Loki tried not to wonder, was Romanov supposed to be watching him more than this mark of theirs? He tried to be amused by the thought rather than annoyed, though the latter was tempting.

She narrowed her eyes. "You'll need to set about acquiring proper attire."

Loki raised his eyebrows. "I have a fair amount of reasonably fine clothing."

"You misunderstand me," Romanov said, and her smirk was maybe just a little sharp. "It's a costume party. Themed." Oh, _well_. Loki felt a sudden and eerie sense of déjà vu – although he was fairly sure the situation had been reversed - and narrowed his eyes.

"Themed," he echoed. "What sort of theme?"

~.~

Animals. They were to dress as animals. If it were not Coulson – even as it was – Loki was tempted to think he was being mocked. He pushed that thought down, though, and told himself it might be fun. At the very least Romanov…intrigued him.

It occurred to Loki that this was exactly the sort of farce the Vanir would love. Someone would have to inform them.

Not him, though, of course.

He had been given the address of a hotel room, and transported himself to just outside the door, startling a man down the hall, who he ignored. Loki knocked, twice, and waited.

Somehow he did not think simply teleporting into her room would end well.

"Hello?"

"It's me." He heard the click of a lock – or perhaps the safety of a gun, he thought a touch wryly - and she opened the door a moment later. Dressed as a panther (sleek, dark, and dangerous; it suited, he thought) with a mask covering just her eyes, she looked him over from head to toe, a critical and assessing gaze the only visible hint to her thoughts. He extended his arms for better inspection.

"Do I satisfy your standards?" He asked, and caught the smallest flicker of smile through her eyes.

"Impressive," she said, though her tone was anything but impressed. "Eyecatching. You're not bad at this."

Loki had ultimately chosen a fox, fashioned a mask himself and dressed in a grey suit and a coat trimmed lightly with fur. It was not, perhaps, accurate, but it was elegant, and Loki suspected the latter of being more important. In his experience, it usually was. "Elaborate costuming is something I have some familiarity with," he said, just a touch dryly, even if no one but he would know the joke.

"You didn't take a plane in," she noted.

"No," he agreed. "I didn't. I found the novelty wore off rather quickly, and thought it more expedient to travel by other means. Was I wrong?"

"No, just early." She turned and gestured at him to come in. "That just gives us more time to go over how this is going to go. As long as we're there, I'm Natalia Tomasek. As far as Joseph McRooter knows, I'm wealthy, bored, and interested in financing his re-election campaign."

"What exactly, if I may ask, do you think is the problem?" Loki padded into the room and settled on the only available chair. "This man. Do you suspect him of treason or…?"

Romanov turned and looked at him for a moment, and then pulled off her mask and sat down on the edge of one of the beds. "I don't know exactly what I suspect. That's part of why you're here." Loki raised his eyebrows and waited. "If there's some sort of…interference. Would you be able to tell?"

"You mean if he's been enchanted."

Romanov didn't quite wince the way the techs tended to when he threw words like that at them. But she did grimace, very briefly. "Yes. Or something like that. Given his…erratic behavior, and a few other anomalies…there are, of course, other possibilities. But if you can detect and rule out one of those without too much effort…it seemed convenient."

Loki sat down on the other bed and crossed one ankle casually over the other knee. "I see. And if that is not the case?"

"Then I will proceed accordingly." Romanov scrutinized him, and Loki returned the attention. She was interesting. Small, almost petite, but to his eye even in finery there was nothing soft about her. Steel all the way through. He wondered if others would notice the same, though. Loki was well aware of the power that being underestimated could give, and had no doubt that she knew the same.

He wondered, abruptly, what Sif would think of her, and in the next breath submerged that thought and drowned it, ruthlessly.

"Coulson referred to you as…mm. 'Repatriated.' What did he mean by that?"

She sat back and considered him, seeming thoughtful. "SHIELD has roughly three ways of dealing with serious threats," she said, after a moment. "Elimination, neutralization, and assimilation. I – and you, from what I've heard – fall under the third category."

Loki had observed as much. And had to, a little, admire the efficiency of it. Kill what you could, contain what could not be killed, and control what could not be contained. He might bridle at it if he thought on it too long. "You are, unless I am greatly mistaken, entirely human."

"Only a little mistaken." She frowned, slightly. "How much do you know about human history?"

He shrugged. "Passably enough."

"If I told you I started my career as a spy for Russia during the Cold War, would that explain it?"

"I can guess well enough that you mean an enemy of your current employer."

Romanov's expression twitched, but too slightly and too quickly for him to identify with any certainty. "Close enough."

Loki cocked his head to the side. "What persuaded you to turn traitor, then?" He expected her to flinch, or frown, or object to his invocation of betrayal. She did not. Her eyes met his perfectly levelly.

"Same as got you on board, I'd guess. They offered me something I didn't have."

"And that was?"

"None of your business." That line of questioning, her voice said, was over. Loki knew that tone, and knew further prying would get him nowhere. He held up both his hands, mock defensively.

"Idle curiosity only, I assure you." Not knowing would itch at him, he knew, but he could file the question away for later puzzling.

She stood, in one fluid and graceful motion. "It can stay idle, then. For the evening, you'll need another name. And suitable employment." Romanov looked him over. "Do you have one you've used before?"

"None suitable."

"It's probably best if you pick it. As for employment…" she eyed him. "Concert pianist. European. I have a feeling you can do 'diva' very well." Her tone turned only slightly acerbic at the end, and he judiciously decided not to comment.

Loki raised his eyebrows. "And why has the ambitious Natalie Tomasek taken up with me?"

Romanov's smile was sharp. "Of course. She likes exotic, pretty things."

"And I am…an exotic, pretty thing."

"Don't let it go to your head." Her smile only got sharper. "We've got a few hours. Have you ever played chess?"

~.~

Loki picked up the game quickly. She still won two out of three matches, but Loki took the losses gracefully. Mostly.

Although he did determine that next time he would not suffer such a defeat.

Romanov herself got no less interesting with time. She was difficult to read, nearly opaque even to him. Getting her to talk about herself became almost a game to him, one she dodged as well as she did his attacks on the board. He wondered what she had gleaned of him, or if he was not supposed to know that she was doing so, or if she intended him to notice and that was part of the game.

He hadn't, if he was honest, had such a diverting couple hours in years.

Going over the possibilities in his head was a pleasant distraction. At the moment, he needed a distraction from his surroundings. Milling crowds of people, fluttering uselessly and full of inane conversation. Jostling to be seen with the right person at the right time. Luxury that bordered on opulence. It reminded him too forcefully of ambassadorial journeys to Vanaheim, right down to the near stench of hypocrisy.

Well, he had conducted himself through more odious affairs often enough to speak pleasantly to those people Romanov spoke with, and a few that she did not. It was a comfort that Romanov did not seem to be enjoying herself either – at least not when no one was looking. When they were, she played the socialite to the hilt, to all appearances basking in the attention and conversation and the rest.

Another thing to add to his mental file on Romanov, which if disappointingly sparse still had a few tidbits of interest.

"Nothing?" she said lowly, as they moved away from a pair of distinguished looking men, dressed (respectively) as lion and wolf, one of whom had spent an inordinate time with his eyes on the neckline of Romanov's dress.

"No, not yet." He was alert, listening, as it were, for any sign of oddities, but so far it was only the low usual murmur of human energy. "If you want me to defend your honor against any of these lechers, please say so."

"That won't be necessary," Romanov said, very nearly icily, and Loki could not help a slight smile. _Sif, _he thought again, and then shoved the thought angrily down.

"Mmm. I thought as much. Perhaps if we-"

"Natalie! Or – Natasha? I can't even remember-" Romanov looked momentarily like she wanted to roll her eyes.

"A moment," she murmured, and turned them to face their interlocutor. He was dressed, curiously enough, without even the slightest pretense of costume; while most present had made at least a token gesture, a mask, exotic makeup, this one looked as though he hadn't even tried. That aside, Loki had seen enough drunkards to recognize one when he saw one, even if he had been unable to smell the alcohol on his breath when he stumbled and caught himself against Loki's shoulder. Loki twitched him off and took a very small step away. "Fancy seeing you here. Moving up in the world?"

"Stark," said Romanov, perfectly coolly. Her mouth was doing that strange thing again, somewhere between annoyed and amused. "No costume?"

"Not a big animal fan. I thought about termites, you know, builders of the animal kingdom, but I figured that probably wouldn't work out too well."

"Mmm. Probably not. Also, it's Natalia; you could _try _to remember."

Stark. Loki recognized the name. He had not remained ignorant, strove to keep up with the news, and the media adored the man. He had gathered that most of SHIELD was somewhat less fond.

"Natalia! Right, of course. Looking fantastic as ever." Stark's gaze flicked to him, and it looked sharper than Loki would have expected, given his smell. "Before you get too deep in, you should know that sexy as this woman is, she does this thing with her thighs that is seriously-"

"_Tony._" Loki could feel his eyebrows trying to rise, and kept them composed. "Please." Her voice was playful, teasing, but Loki caught the shades of _keep going and I will end you _in her eyes. Stark raised both hands defensively.

"Okay, okay! Just doing a public service, making sure your handsome date's aware of his peril – speaking of which, hello, Tony Stark, nice to meet you. I must really smell like brandy, right? Sorry about that, only way to get through these things…" He stuck out a hand that Loki took after a moment and shook. His palm was unexpectedly callused, though Loki supposed he should have expected that. Engineer, he remembered. At least this man built his own machines.

"Aleksander Evenstad." Loki affected a polite, slightly bored smile.

He watched Stark's eyes instead of listening to his mouth, noted the way they glanced between him and Romanov as though he was trying to work something out. Then he grinned in a way Loki recognized as perfectly insincere.

"Just wondering, would it be weird if I flirted with you? Cause that could be a thing that-"

Something prickled on the back of his neck and Loki's head swiveled, eyes narrowing. For just a moment, he'd thought he felt... Romanov drew closer, her voice barely audible.

"Something?"

"Perhaps. I'm not certain."

Stark was looking back and forth between them, eyes slightly narrowed. "Hold on, did something just happen that I completely missed?"

"Mmm." Romanov's eyes flicked to Stark. "You should clear out of here. Just in case."

"Are you sure? I could-" He didn't sound half so drunk as he had a moment ago. Loki half closed his eyes and cast out his magic, trying to feel for the flicker of a disturbance he'd just felt, like a ripple on otherwise still water.

"Not tonight. We've got this. Fury wants you keeping your head down-"

"If I may break up your little _soiree,_" Loki cut in, "Perhaps we ought to-" he gestured eloquently.

"Tony, out," Romanov said once more, and then was standing at his elbow, holding his arm as though he were escorting her somewhere. "Where," she asked, in a voice barely audible. "And what…"

"On the other side of the crowd," he said, beginning to move them through the throng of people in varying degrees of drunkenness. "As to what – difficult to say." That small strangeness could be any number of things – or nothing at all.

His heart had begun to beat a little faster. He could see it in her, too, anticipation and excitement. Bloodthirst. He tucked that away as well, and thought, _spy. Ha. _"What did you notice?" she asked.

"Not much," Loki murmured, keeping his head bent toward her as though whispering some sweet nothings. "It may well be nothing at all. Or…"

"Natalia! Introduce me, would you?"

Loki wheeled, startled, half instinctively moving to shove Romanova out of the way, but she had already released his arm and turned, smiling. "Joseph! I was wondering when I'd run into you. This is Aleksander – Aleksander, Senator Joseph."

So this was their mark. Startlingly ordinary, Loki thought, plain to look at, unremarkable in almost every way. Even his costume understated enough that it was only the mask dangling at his side that seemed to suggest a concession to the theme. He offered a hand and a faint smile. "Charmed. Natalia seems quite…enthusiastic about your politics."

"But not yourself?" That smile grated at him. He'd seen it on a hundred courtiers, all of them eternally insincere and utterly uninterested in anything but the favors he could gain them by his proximity to the throne. Former proximity. Loki thought again of Vanaheim, and the taste of it was bitter.

"Aleksander's not an American citizen," Romanov broke in. Her hand on his arm was just slightly too tight. "I've told you how I feel about American men." Her smile was sweet, almost teasing. Loki kept his face still, but he had to be slightly impressed with the transformation, the suggestion of flirtation around her eyes.

He reached out, tentatively, but the room was a quiet pond to his other senses again. No ripples. He was, briefly, almost ferociously disappointed. For a moment, he thought the senator glanced sharply at him, almost as though he'd felt something, but when Loki focused properly he was talking again.

"…disappointed not to see you at the gala last weekend."

"I was sorry to miss it." Romanov's eyes flickered in his direction, very briefly, though her smile remained truly dazzling. "I can only hope you'll be holding another one soon."

"And would you be bringing your Aleksander with you?" Loki adopted the pleasant expression that had slipped away somewhat as the Senator's eyes came back to him. "If I may ask, what brings you to the Americas?"

"I am currently on tour. I am something of a musician and-"

"Joe! Hey, Joseph!"

McRooter sighed. "And so I am called away. I'd much rather talk to you, Natalia, get to know your new beau, but so many people, you understand…we'll have to set up a time. Call my secretary, she'll put you in."

"Of course," Romanov said, easily, her badly concealed disappointment positively artful. "Soon, I hope…" She watched him move away, and then murmured, "Anything?"

"Nothing," Loki murmured, with something not quite a sigh. "As far as I can tell, he is utterly…"

He trailed off. It was nothing obviously wrong. A glimpse out of the corner of his eye and the slightest, smallest flutter against his senses. He whirled. "Wait," he said, to the man's back and Romanov both. "McRooter." He gathered his magic and took a step toward the man. "If I may…"

The senator half turned, looking vaguely perplexed. "I'm sorry?" he said, nearly pitch perfect confusion. Nearly. Except for the very slight new tension around his eyes.

"Have we met before?" Loki asked, politely. "I just had the oddest feeling-"

"I certainly know no reason why you would have," the man started to say, and Loki wove the last few ends of his working and let it go, let his senses slide sideways.

It was small. It was quiet. It was buried under layer upon layer of mundane normalcy, barely perceptible.

But still there.

He blinked. Joseph McRooter was staring back at him, wide eyed, his mouth hanging slightly open. The flicker of fear wasn't from him, though. No, whatever was hiding inside this man had recognized the touch of magic, and knew itself discovered. Loki's eyes narrowed.

"Natalia," he said, lowly, body coiling.

The man wheeled to break into a run, but Romanov was faster. Within seconds she had him on the floor, pinned on his stomach with his arm drawn up behind his back and a milling crowd of people reaching for their phones.

"Explain," Romanov snapped at him.

Loki flashed his teeth at her and began to gather his magic for a different working, one he had to scramble to remember. "I think you would rather I used my time to-"

Too late. The man under Romanov began to jerk and then to spasm, his limbs flailing wildly, and he made strangled choking sounds. It took only seconds, and then he fell still.

"I'm calling 911," said one of the guests, clearer than the others. Loki casually sent out a bolt of energy and fried her phone.

"I would suggest not. R- _Tomasek_, move_._" She was already on her feet, looking from him to the dead man on the floor, and then to the guests. Loki ignored them all, knelt and flipped the man over. His eyes were already glazed, and Loki summoned one of his knives. "I suggest," Loki said, coolly, to that blank face, "You explain yourself."

"Evenstad," Romanov said tightly. He ignored her. Waited a few more moments.

"If you remain silent," he said finally, "I will cut open this man's skull, find where you have hidden, and see to it that you die in exquisite pain."

"He's dead already," Natasha said, flatly.

"McRooter is," Loki said, coolly. "Which is…unfortunate. But I think…"

"Not many are able to know me."

Romanov sucked in a breath. Loki could not help a small, satisfied smile. The man's eyes were still dull, but his mouth moved with the words. Someone further back made a strangled noise. "Stark," Romanov said, not looking up. "Get everybody out."

So the drunkard had stayed. "All right," Loki heard him say. "Everything's under control, I've called the authorities, let's move away from here…don't give me that, ma'am, do you know who I am?" Loki did not look up.

"Unlucky," he said. "I am one of the few who would. You are far from home indeed."

"I am not the only one of whom that is true."

Loki did not let that sting. "What is it?" Romanov interrupted, before he could answer. "Is it some sort of-" She broke off. He glanced over his shoulder to see a look of utter disgust on her face, a gun trained on the corpse on the floor.

"A parasite," Loki said, coolly. "Inhabitants of a remote moon somewhere between the realms. They share the place with a host creature that I understand maintains a reciprocal relationship with… Are you expanding, then?"

Silence. Loki hummed under his breath and reached deliberately for his magic.

"Wait," said the dead man. "Sanctuary. I invoke sanctuary. By right of-"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Your species is hardly in danger of annihilation."

Silence, again. He heard Romanov shift. "Is this an invasion," she asked, impressively level given that Loki could feel her discomfort. This was not, he gathered, for what she'd been trained. But she adapted admirably.

"Our home is gone," said the thing inside Senator McRooter, finally. There was something…almost a quaver to the voice, but of course that was illusory. The voice was not even its own. "Our hosts all destroyed. Some few of us managed to escape the destruction, but-"

"Lie," Loki said coolly. "That's absurd. A cataclysm on that scale would have been heard." Unless – no. That thought itself was further absurdity.

"Asgard does not know all."

"Only most."

"Fascinating as interstallar politics is - why here?" Natasha interrupted.

"Chance." The dead man's voice was nearly dispassionate, without emotion. His eyes did not move, but the next was clearly directed to Loki. "I asked for sanctuary. Will you grant it?"

"You killed your host. An act of aggression could be claimed."

"You startled me. An unfortunate accident. We are still adapting to human bodies."

"We. How many?"

A long pause. Loki flipped his knife once. "Perhaps sixty," the thing said, finally, and Natasha swore vehemently.

"Well," Loki said, softly. "That is a problem."

"Everything else aside," Romanov said, lowly, "We can't – that is not a tenable state of affairs. That many, how are we supposed to-"

"We send a message," Loki interrupted. He met the dead man's eyes as though he could see through them to the intelligence beneath. "You are a hive species, yes? You share a consciousness?"

"Yes," after a moment.

"So what I tell you will be communicated to all in this realm?"

"Yes," again, sounding more sure of itself. "And we will remember the friendship of the Aesir-"

"Ah," Loki said. "Good." And he slammed the knife through the senator's chin, through the roof of his mouth, and into the brain where he knew the thing would be curled, latched to its host. "Unlucky," he said, too quietly to be overheard. "I'm not Aesir, and your friendship is of no use to me."

Romanov, he realized belatedly, was watching him. Her eyes narrowed speculatively, but she did not, he noted, look troubled. He wondered if she would make the same request as the others. Wondered if she would claim he had been too quick to kill.

Loki was disinclined to trust anything that came from within the Void between realms. Or, if he was honest, anything that might manage to bear word to Asgard.

"We could have gotten more information," she said, finally. "Where the rest are, maybe."

"We could have," Loki agreed. "But this was faster. The others will feel their hive-mate die. They will know how he perished and depart for safer pastures."

"Are more likely to turn up later?"

"No," Loki said, straightening. _Our home is gone. _Perhaps they'd been lying, only seeking mercy. He felt a brief twinge of something at that thought, and shoved it ruthlessly down. Loki could think of no reason that remote moon should be gone. But somehow he was not inclined to think it a lie, even if it would have been…comforting, in some way, to believe that. It was something in the voice, perhaps. Some familiar flavor of despair that made him think of-

But of course, that was soft-hearted foolishness. For his own sake, and this world's, his way was better.

"No, I don't think so."

Asgard, he realized too late. Aesir. This creature had named him. Falsely, true, but he couldn't help but hope that Romanov had made nothing of the names.

**Interlude (IX)**

Loki rubbed his hands against his legs in a nervous gesture he had not indulged in for years. _This is nothing, _he told himself sternly. _Simple enough. And something you will need to do. Have needed to do for some time. _

It was only a bookstore. Small, only a few blocks from his house.

He'd chosen his clothing carefully, opting after some thought to hunt down and purchase a set of clothing of considerably lower quality than his other, verging on shabby. It was a calculated choice to encourage sympathy, compassion such as he had observed in his particular targets of the day.

It itched, though. And he felt severely self-conscious. Perhaps this was not so necessary after all.

_Stop that. _Everything he had faced, yet here he was, stalling. _Coward, _he thought, and shoved himself into motion. He slipped through the front door as he had several mornings before and strolled over to the front counter. The woman behind the counter seemed to be distracted, bobbing her head up and down. Headphones, he decided, after a moment. That had been a source of some consternation to him for a while, the impression that those around him were enjoying the sound of music he could not hear.

He was still learning.

Loki tapped his fingers on the desk, and when that produced no response cleared his throat a touch more loudly. The woman startled and then turned, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Oh – hello, can I help you?"

"I spoke to you on the phone the other day," he said, deliberately keeping himself still. "About applying for employment here."

"Oh!" her expression brightened, fractionally. "Right, I remember. L...it started with an L, right?"

"Luke," he said, a little more easily. The name still fit him uneasily, but he was adjusting to it. Molding himself to it, little by little. It was a process. "I'm afraid I can't recall…"

"I probably didn't introduce myself. Megan, hi. So you want a job here? Haven't you heard print media's on its way out?"

"Print media," Loki said with authoritative certainty, "will _never _be 'on its way out.' Regardless of other advances."

Megan grinned. "Good answer. Do you have any experience in retail?"

Simple enough to lie. He was tempted to, but it was all too likely that would show when he started working. "No," he said, and offered a sheepish smile. "I'm afraid not."

"Huh," she said. "Well. The boss says he wants someone with experience, preferably in other bookstores, but it's worth a shot, honestly, he's a softie. Resume and everything?"

"Mmm. Sent already."

"Right, okay. Ron's in the back." She kicked up her feet and tilted her head back to bellow, "Hey! Ron!" Loki did not quite wince, but a moment later a bespectacled, middle-aged man poked his head out, looking only slightly harried.

"Meg, I've asked you any number of times not to-" his eyes moved to Loki, and he blinked slightly. "Oh. Did you need help?"

"Of a sort." Loki could feel himself beginning to relax in that strange way these mundane conversations seemed to manage. They were so…ordinary. So entirely void of expectation or snare, even if he couldn't help but look for them. "I called – seeking employment?"

"Ah! Yes," Ron said, looking curiously relieved and also shooting Megan a strangely dirty look that Loki was at a loss to understand. "Of course. I looked over the resumé you sent in. If you'll pardon my saying so, you seem a touch…overqualified, least in terms of education."

He had researched that project as meticulously as he would any enterprise. Admittedly, he had taken the liberty of giving himself the best false education Loki thought (with his limited understanding) was realistic.

The entire process had almost been entertaining.

"Perhaps so. But practically speaking, employment opportunities are rare. I would rather do something I have an interest in than otherwise." Megan, Loki could feel, was watching him with open, blatant curiosity. He cast Ron a very slight smile. "Perhaps we might continue this conversation elsewhere?"

The look Ron cast his employee was nearly a glower. Related, Loki concluded. At least, most likely. "Of course," he said. "I haven't really been hiring, but…" Loki could see him glancing at his clothing. His magic, near to hand, remained still.

He wanted to know, suddenly, if he could do this on his own merits.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: OKAY that was never supposed to take that long. As you may have noticed, I have been posting other things not this for the last while - this was for gifts for the holidays, and having been concluded, I should now be back on my regular schedule. SO THAT'S COOL._

_Continued gratitude to zaataronpita, beta and best friend, and to everyone who's been sticking with this and telling me they're enjoying it! You keep my honest. (Or something, anyway.)_

_Cheers!_

* * *

Loki had not intended to linger once their backup arrived and began cleaning up the mess –and, Loki thought, undoubtedly disseminating misinformation. He had every intention of slipping away unnoticed, and then Romanov appeared out of nowhere and caught his arm.

"You're taking me to dinner," she said. Loki just managed not to jerk his arm away out of reflex, and blinked at her.

"It seems a bit late for that," he said, rather than commenting on the brusqueness of her invitation. Her eyes flicked past him like she was looking for someone.

"You offered to defend my honor. It would be much appreciated if you did so by keeping me from having to deal with the asshole who's in charge of PR."

Loki settled back on his heels. "You're lying," he informed her, declining to play along. "There is no such motivation, nor would you request my help if there were. Do me the courtesy of not assuming I am utterly without a brain."

Romanov's expression flickered between irritated and amused. "Fine. I want to talk to you in private. And I _am _hungry. They hardly serve any food at these things."

Loki considered her for a long moment, and then inclined his head. He could feel his own hunger pangs, however well he managed to ignore them. "I appreciate your honesty. Have you a place in mind?"

"Actually," she said, after a moment, "I think there's a place on Market that's open late."

"I'm afraid I don't know this city well enough for my usual means of transportation," Loki said with a thin smile. "Have you other means?"

"Car," Romanov said, and indicated one of the nondescript black vehicles. "Or I will in a moment. Wait here." Loki settled back on his heels and watched her stride over to a SHIELD agent looking both conspicuously unoccupied and slightly distracted. He straightened up at once when he saw Romanov approaching, however.

Loki tried not to let his thoughts wander. He did not much care for the directions in which they strayed.

She returned moments later and waved the set of car keys at him. "Get in the car, Silver. And try to relax. I promise I'm not taking you somewhere to kill you." Her smile was quick, sharp, and a little bit deadly, enough to possibly belie the promise. Loki could not help a soft laugh.

"Relaxation is as much my strong point as I suspect it is yours, Agent Romanov." But he slid into the passenger seat of the vehicle, adjusted the seat so he could stretch out his legs, and leaned back. "And am I to call you that all through dinner, or have I earned the honor of your first name?"

She started the car. "Maybe later."

"You have mine."

"I have a name you gave yourself. Probably recently." She glanced sideways at him. "Which is fine. But don't try to pull that argument with me."

Loki flashed his teeth at her. "It was worth a try." She didn't react in the least. He leaned back as much as he could against the seat at his back, smoothing his features back to regally composed. "So, did you find your observation of me edifying?"

"Less than I would have liked," she said, not even bothering to attempt to deny it. A part of Loki had to be amused at her nonchalance.

"I wouldn't be much good at this if I did not know how to hide my mind."

"But not nothing." She didn't so much as glance at him. "You told Coulson that you had some training in negotiation. I'd narrow that down to diplomacy. Am I wrong?"

"If I confirmed your suppositions that would take all the fun out of your guessing," Loki said chidingly. Romanov seemed less than amused.

"So, diplomacy. But not strictly a diplomat, given how quickly you turned to killing even when there might have been other options. You've got a way of looking at people that makes me think you were born with money or power – or maybe both. But that sort of performance irks you – the playing nice to people you don't like thing. So wherever you're from, jockeying for status wasn't part of it."

Loki felt a faint prickle down his spine. "Is there an aim to this exercise?"

"I don't know yet," Romanov said, voice still perfectly calm, almost detached. "You seemed curious, so I'm telling you what I noticed." More than he'd expected. But she hadn't asked about Asgard. He prayed that was a good sign, and not a bad one. She glanced at him, sidelong. "But if you want to change the subject…"

"May I ask what it is you wish to speak of that couldn't wait?"

"You can ask," she said mildly, "Or you can wait and find out in about ten minutes. You hadn't met Stark before, had you?"

"I had not," Loki said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Romanov smirked.

"He has that effect on most people." Loki angled his gaze sideways, trying to read the shadows of her face.

"You were an assassin," he said suddenly, "Not a spy, I think, before your current employment…and I would guess, now as well. If it is necessary." She tensed, very slightly, and he watched her push it away, submerge whatever threatened to surface once more.

"In my line of work, you don't stay alive very long if you don't learn how to kill." Her eyes were still forward on the road, not deviating even an iota in his direction. "I think you know that."

Loki didn't answer. His thoughts kept trying to twist in strange directions, and he focused on keeping them on a tight leash.

They drove the rest of the short way in silence until Romanov pulled off the road and into a parking lot. "Nothing fancy," she said, opening the door and sliding out of the car. "I hope you don't mind."

"I can manage," Loki murmured, unfolding from his seat, and didn't wait for her to stride toward the front door, the garish _open _sign leaving an afterimage on his eyelids. She caught up to him in a few steps, but it gave him a petty kind of satisfaction. "Though I fear we're rather overdressed."

Romanov shrugged. "I doubt anyone's going to comment. Table for two," she said, to the host before Loki could. The man looked more bored than surprised, although Loki caught the slight twitch of his gaze in Romanov's direction before he pulled it away. He picked up two menus and turned with an only slightly surly, "This way."

Loki arched an eyebrow in Romanov's direciton, and she gave him an almost suspiciously sweet smile. "The lasagna's good. I had a craving for Italian."

The restaurant was nearly empty, but the surly young man took them near to the back anyway, dropped the menus on the table, and departed with almost unseemly haste. Loki watched him hurry away before sitting down, pushing the chair back from the table so he could stretch his legs, the picture of casual relaxation he did not truly feel. "You've been here before, then?"

"Once or twice. It's close to a neighborhood of influential people but not out of my price range."

Loki twitched his head in the direction the fleeing young man had gone. "And do you know him, by any chance?"

Romanov smiled, very slightly. "I don't know why you'd think that." Loki felt his lips twitch, and smoothed them out as another server brought them two glasses of water. Romanov sipped at hers. Loki left his where it was.

"You wanted to speak to me," he prompted after a moment's silence. Romanov nodded, very slightly.

"I did."

"About?"

Romanov sat back and examined him with that weighing, assessing gaze. Loki wondered briefly what she was looking for, and kept his expression blank just in case. "You know, for all Agent Barton told me, you're not so bad."

Loki let his eyebrows rise. "High praise."

One corner of Romanov's mouth ticked up. "I wouldn't take it personally. We're both used to a little more…mundane, even if that's starting to change. With a little time…I'd guess he'll come around."

"I shall breathe a sigh of immense relief and stop fretting over that, then," Loki drawled. Romanov gave him a slight sidelong look. "If you thought that was a concern of mine…"

"Oh no," said Romanov, "I'm sure you're not in the least concerned about anyone else's opinion of you. You're independent. Self-reliant. Damn all the rest of them." She took a sip of her water. "Right?"

Loki let his eyes narrow just a fraction. "Not quite how I would put it, but near enough," he said, as though he hadn't heard the sarcasm underneath. She looked at him a long moment, and then nodded.

"Mmhm." She set her glass down and folded her hands on the table, her tone changing slightly. "You noticed I was observing you. Phil asked me to, and to report what I saw."

Loki was momentarily surprised by the frankness of that admission. He tried not to let it show on his face. "I wouldn't expect you to inform me of this."

"He didn't ask me to evaluate you," Romanov said, her eyes curiously intent, "Or assess a threat. It wasn't an official request. I owe him a favor, professionally, and it was in that spirit he asked me for my…expertise."

"Your expertise," Loki echoed. He could feel himself coiling tight and did his best to mask it. A waiter came by and Romanov glanced at him.

"Ready to order?"

Loki glanced at the menu he'd barely looked at since sitting down. "Not really."

"Mm. Too bad." Romanov flipped her menu closed. "The lasagna, house salad with thousand island on the side. Just water is fine." The waiter's gaze turned to Loki and he offered a thin smile.

"I'll just share hers," he said, pleasantly. She gave him a hard look that he ignored.

"You aren't getting any of my lasagna," she informed him. Loki smiled at her, too, the expression no more genuine. The waiter glanced between them and then vacated the premises.

"I shall keep that in mind."

Her eyes narrowed and then relaxed. She sat forward, elbows leaning on the table. "Yeah, my expertise. He thought I might be helpful in…your particular situation."

"Why you," Loki asked, steepling his fingers under his chin. "Out of everyone he might have chosen…why you?"

Her eyes on him were perfectly opaque, nearly impossible to read. After a few moments, she dropped them to flick to her glass of water and picked it up to sip at it. "I didn't integrate well," she said, finally. "When I was first hired. I wasn't great at cooperation and it was starting to look like the wrong call had been made bringing me in." She shrugged one shoulder. "I had someone who got me back in line, made sure I stayed clean. SHIELD – particularly Coulson - knows an asset when it sees one. He thinks you're floundering. Are you?"

_Floundering? _Loki felt a hot flare of anger and answered nearly automatically, snapping, "No."

Romanov set down her water glass. "Not necessarily professionally. Personally."

"Meaning?" Loki said, voice tight. Romanov just looked at him, levelly, but Loki had taken much sterner looks from much more intimidating opponents.

"I think you're smart enough to work that one out," she said finally. Loki propped his chin on his hands and threw her an amiable smile.

"Why don't I ask you what you think? You are the one doing the assessment, after all."

"Most people don't like being told what they're feeling by someone else."

"I'm curious what it is you think you've worked out."

Romanov leaned back again. "I've done my homework after Coulson mentioned the idea to me. Talked to both Agents Barton and Ford. Gotten an impression of your mission performance, read your formal reports, and now observation of my own. And you want to know what I think?"

Loki leaned in, ever so slightly. An almost sick feeling throbbed in his chest. "I believe I do." _I don't. _

Romanov's voice changed slightly again, became cool and clinical. "You're impatient, borderline reckless. You have a sharp mind – a very sharp mind, but when you get emotionally involved you lose it. You've got good focus but you're easily bored. You've got a ruthless streak but that's emotional too. I don't think I've seen you drop your guard once, but you're good at pretending you have. Most people you find dull. The few you don't make you nervous; like me. I also make you nervous because I'm as good a liar as you are, and you're not used to that. Should I keep going?"

Loki's stomach was in his throat. It was like being naked, worse than naked, like being flayed bare of skin and laid out for all to see, to stare, to gawk at. That he could be reduced to so very little…and she wasn't wrong. About any of it. When was the last time, he wondered, when someone had looked at him and seen… (cared to see, he thought sometimes, or even bothered to try, not too dazzled by Thor, _perfect _Thor-)

He cut off that thought, quickly. He wanted to lash out, or possibly run, or something – _something. _But he had…asked. Out of some morbid curiosity, he'd asked. _And she hasn't condemned you yet, _murmured a quiet voice at the back of his mind, but that was a dangerous thought. "You're not unskilled at this."

"One of the best." Romanov's eyes were intent, but one corner of her mouth flickered up. "Huh. I was expecting you to react worse to that."

"Were you?"

"No one likes to be told the truth about themselves." Romanov's smile was faintly sardonic. "Can I ask you again?"

Loki kept his voice deliberately casual. "Ask what?"

"If you're floundering." Her eyes were cool, calm, but not, he thought, expressionless. He was beginning to think anything but.

"Adjusting," Loki said, after a long moment. "I would say. Becoming acclimated."

"Mmm." Romanov simply looked at him for another moment, and then nodded. "Fair enough. It takes some getting used to." She stretched out her legs, and fell silent. Loki shifted, almost but not quite uncertain. "It's interesting, you know. I have a feeling you could charm just about anyone if you felt like it. You've got the charisma and the personality for it. I'm curious why you don't put in the effort."

Loki blinked. He hadn't thought of it that way, as _charm _or _charisma. _It was just another way to lie. "Perhaps I don't feel most people are worth the effort."

"'Perhaps?' I'd think you'd know." Romanov hummed under her breath. "You were keeping at least as much of an eye on me as anything else at that party," Romanov said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "Ford said you acted like you were working alone, and Clint commented that your first thought when things went wrong was that SHIELD had set you up."

"Are you going to tell me I'm wrong to be wary?" Loki said, letting his mouth curve, wry, amused. Something was humming in his chest or stomach, a strange feeling he couldn't quite pin down. Romanov snorted.

"Hardly. I'd be a hypocrite. I am saying - you'll halve your effectiveness that way. Tire faster, react slower, catch less. It's no way to work. So go ahead. Be wary. I'm not saying you need to make friends. Just…" she shrugged. "It's advice. Paranoia can keep you alive. Too much can kill you just as well."

"Are you suggesting I trust you?" Loki said, letting his tone communicate his incredulity. Romanov looked amused.

"I'm not suggesting you should trust anyone. That's not how it works. I don't trust easily, and I've been working with these people for years. But I trust someone."

Loki raised his eyebrows at her. "Someone." Barton, he guessed. Given how she talked about him, the use of his first name, he was almost certain of it. _That's who it is for you, isn't it_, and he could have said it. Part of him wanted to, to needle her into a response, throw her out of that carefully held balance.

Her eyes locked on his, calm and nearly expressionless. "Yeah. One person I know I can have at my back and not need to look over my shoulder." She looked up, and smiled pleasantly. "Ah, there's my lasagna. About time."

Loki sat back as the waiter set down her food. He felt strange, anxious, uncomfortable, and wasn't sure why any of it. But the urge to lash out hadn't returned. He waited until the waiter left to speak again. "You said Coulson asked you for your…professional opinion."

"Mmm." Romanov took a large bite of her lasagna, and looked briefly nearly blissful.

"And what are you going to tell him?" Loki asked. She glanced up at him, and he thought he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes. Maybe sympathy.

"What I told you. And that you're adjusting, and I don't think he needs to worry." She smiled, fractionally, and he thought this one had a little more of truth in it, and a little less of a weapon. "You seemed to enjoy the chess."

"It was not…a bad game," Loki said. He felt uneasy, disquieted, the urge in him tugging back and forth in myriad directions. To lash out, to run or close off or – _pathetic, _he chided himself, fiercely. _Hold your ground. _

"Come by sometime," she said. "I've got a place. Little bit of work and you might not make a bad player."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "I shall have it mastered in the space of another afternoon." At her smile, he knew he had been baited into it.

He found he couldn't quite mind.

She paused, and looked up, fork poised above her dish. "By the way," she said, "It's Natasha. Natasha Romanov."

**Interlude (X)**

He was hired.

Despite himself, Loki was a little surprised. "Welcome to the team," Megan said when he turned up on his first day, nearly painfully cheerful. "And by that I mean me and Ron, but – hey. And now you."

"So it would seem," Loki said, trying not to stare at her.

"Ron's out today," Megan said, hopping off her stool behind the counter. "Just you and me, sugar. So I'm supposed to teach you the ropes. It's not too hard – mostly you'll be shelving things, unpacking orders in the back, and taking the register while I'm off." Once again, Loki was struck by a strong sense of surreality. _Menial labor. You would have scoffed at this, such a short time ago. _

He pushed the thought away. "That all seems simple enough."

"Yeah, should be. Okay, let's start with the back room." She gestured him around the corner, and Loki followed her into a crowded, somewhat musty room stuffed with boxes. Loki wasn't sure what his expression looked like, but it seemed to amuse Megan. "Yeah, we're not great at the organization thing. Deep breath, it'll pass. So, what were you studying?"

"Physics," Loki said, easily. Megan's expression was faintly startled.

"Really? Cause I was expecting – I dunno, lit or history or something."

"I like to know how things work." It was still laughably primitive, but the field mortals called physics did seem to be the closest thing they had to an understanding of what he called magic and they had any number of more complicated names for. His guide made a face.

"Physics never got me. Too much math. But I was never much of any kind of academic, really. So – boxes come in through that door, there," she pointed, "Deliveries, when we get them. You'll have to sign for them, and then go through and make sure the orders match – sometimes they fuck it up – and yeah, that's it, basically. Where are you from?"

Loki blinked a little, slightly taken off guard by the question slipped into the midst of a deluge of instructions that did not, to him, seem very clear. He filed the words away and hoped it would be intuitive enough. "England," he said, and then added, "Though only originally, I've been here for some time." Vague, difficult to disprove. When he wasn't thinking, apparently his voice had an accent to it that sounded familiar to Midgardians, and the little searching he'd done had not found the location objectionable.

"Huh," Megan said, sounding more interested rather than less. "Okay, just curious. Any questions so far?"

"No," Loki said, which was the answer that he would have given if he had had questions. Megan seemed to think as much too, given her skeptical eyebrow.

"Really? Cause you've got a little bit of the 'dazed and confused' going on-"

Music abruptly began to play, loudly and jauntily, and Loki nearly jumped. He was almost immediately ashamed when Megan grimaced and pulled her phone from her pocket. He'd seen enough people using them to know what they were, and yet it seemed every time-

She glanced at the screen, and made a face. "I've gotta take this," she said, sounding unhappy about it. "Be right back, okay? You can poke around."

Loki looked in a few of the boxes as Megan walked a few feet away and answered the call, but mostly he watched her. She didn't look happy. Whoever she was speaking with, she had little fondness for them, and she paced back and forth a few times, agitated. Loki caught himself frowning and tilted his head to listen, but could only catch fragments of words and a sharp tone of voice.

She hung up a few moments later and returned, expression soured. Loki tried not to look curious, and apparently failed. She sighed and waved a hand vaguely. "Not a big deal," she said. "Just a…thing. My biological dad – wants to get in touch with me. Ha, cause that's going to happen."

Loki frowned. "Biological as opposed to…"

She gave him an odd, sidelong look. "They don't have adoption in England?"

Loki felt as though he'd been slapped in the face. Out of surprise more than anything, and a moment later he felt foolish (of course, what else would it be) and then simply…unsteadied. _It's not the same. _He forced a laugh. "Of course. Silly me."

The odd look only intensified, and Loki tensed. Had he already misstepped in some vital way, _idiot, what were you thinking- _then, abruptly, understanding seemed to dawn on her face. "Oh!" she said. "Yeah, I'm adopted. You could just ask, I mean, it's not a big deal and I'm a nosy bitch who likes to overshare, so…yeah." Loki had the distinct feeling that he had just missed something, some assumption she had just made, but wasn't certain what it was.

"Yeah," Megan went on, puttering back toward the main section of the store. "Ron's my dad. Figure it's the only reason he hired a total deadbeat, heh. I'm not sensitive about it or anything." She glanced over her shoulder as Loki trailed after her, and finally paused. "…did I say something?"

"No," said Loki, after a moment. "Not…no. You did not." _Ron's my dad, _she said, like it was that simple, like this other man she clearly didn't care for mattered not at all.

Megan was still giving him an odd look.

"Okay," she said, after a moment, and turned back around. "Well, let me know. I put my foot in my mouth sometimes and I won't notice if you don't say anything, chances are. So, shelving…"

_Norns, _he thought, _still pulling my strings, am I supposed to think something, learn something, are you still-_

He pushed that thought aside. Coincidence. Strange coincidence, and he would think on it no further.

_I was never his son. And now I never will be. _

No further.


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's Notes: Hey, relatively timely update! how about that. And you thought those were a myth. (However, as I am shortly to return to school, they may become one. But...)_

_Thanks again to my fabulous beta zaataronpita, without whom I would probably be a sobbing mess on a pile of words._

_Now on with the show.~_

* * *

If Romanov had put the pieces together concerning what the creature had said before its death about Asgard and Aesir, either she did not mention it or it had been deemed irrelevant, judging by the lack of reaction to any such news. He wasn't entirely certain which was preferable.

Or perhaps they knew, the thought crossed his mind. Knew and were setting snares even now…he swept the thought away. He could drive himself mad that way. All he could do was remain alert and hope that his ability to think on his feet would not fail him if it were needed.

At any rate, when he dropped his report on Coulson's desk he received only a speculative look and, after a moment, an, "Agent Romanov said you worked well together."

Loki was faintly surprised. What else did she say, he was tempted to ask, but that did not seem likely to be a productive course of action. "Did she."

"Would you say the same?"

Loki considered. In the end, though, he didn't really have to think that hard. "Yes," he said. "I would."

Coulson seemed perhaps just the slightest bit pleased, but he simply nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

Loki sketched a shallow bow and left the room. He took an elevator to the basement, intending to see if he could make up his absence to Roslyn. Despite his slip in front of Romanov, he felt very nearly in a pleasant mood.

That lasted all the way from stepping out of the elevator to opening the door into the lab. And then it burst like a soap bubble.

Loki stood frozen in the doorway. He might have only seen her once or twice, but those memories were sharp enough to cut. _What is she doing here, _some wild corner of his brain shrilled. _This is yours, this is supposed to be your safe haven-_

"Oh, Luke!" Roslyn called out, just as he was hovering on the edge of flight. "Hey, I was just telling Jane-"

Yes, Loki thought. Jane Foster. I know her. Or. I know of her. Thor's beloved.

Oh, he thought, oh _no. _

And she was turning, and looking up at him (so _small _he could only imagine how she would look next to- stop thinking it, stop stop stop) without a trace of recognition. (For now, he thought frantically, for _now_.) "Oh!" she said, interrupting Roslyn with her expression brightening. "Luke Silver, right? Roslyn's just been telling me some incredible things – great to meet you," and she held out a hand. Loki stared at it. Stared at her.

_So casual, _he thought, dazed. _You have no idea. That I know you. That I hate you, more than anything, than _anything _in this realm_-

Her friendly, hopeful smile began to falter.

"Jesus, Luke, you look like you've just remembered you left the stove on," Roslyn said, frowning. "What's the deal?"

He forced himself to move, to take her hand, to smile. "Your pardon," he said, "I was merely…startled. I've heard some about you and did not expect…" Her hand was warm, palm faintly callused, her face open and friendly, eyes clever. Loki did not know what he had expected, but here, looking at her, it was not…what she was. She blinked.

"What," Jane Foster said, "You're a big fan of astrophysics?"

"More than you'd think," Loki said, and his smile felt sharp-edged to him. He tried to moderate it. "But I'm afraid not. I received records of the…New Mexico incident. Your name cropped up."

"Oh," she said, and a strange expression crossed her face. "Right. Heh." She laughed, though it sounded awkward and a little uncertain, and she dropped his hand. "That's what I'm famous for around here."

"Not precisely as you would like, hm?" he said, half an eye on Roslyn. She was watching him, frowning a little, and he tried to reinforce his expression to polite interest. "I can hardly blame you. It doesn't sound like the most pleasant of experiences."

Foster blinked. "What? Oh – no, actually, it was – it wasn't bad. Mostly. Other than losing my research and the giant Terminator robot…"

_Of course, _Loki's thoughts flashed, _you were with the mighty _Thor, _even human he outshone all around him_. Foster's smile faded, and she looked about to frown.

"Hey, Jane," Roslyn said, suddenly, and Foster looked away from him. "I gotta-" She made a vague gesture. "You'll be fine on your own?"

"I'm not helpless," Foster said, sounding a little peeved, "And I'm not letting SHIELD swallow me alive, no matter how hard they try."

"It's not that bad," Roslyn protested, and Foster gave her a look that eloquently communicated her doubt on that point. Loki felt his lips twitch and a moment later was uncertain whether he wanted to think better of her or resented her for it.

She was clever and had a mind between her ears. Roslyn, who was not without her own intelligence, plainly admired her. That was more than he would have expected of any woman to capture Thor, who primarily seemed to notice physical attributes that Miss Foster was…not lacking, but rather more sparse in than his usual. Roslyn was gone, however, and Foster was looking at him again. Loki donned a smile again, this one perhaps slightly easier. "I am afraid I am not the most skilled of entertainers."

"Actually," she said, "I was kind of hoping I could pick your brain over a coffee." Loki blinked, taken too off guard to react immediately. "From what Roslyn's told me, you've said some pretty fascinating things that could have fairly serious implications on what I do – that's why I'm here, actually."

_She wants to talk to you, _Loki thought, faintly incredulous. _Ask you questions. And why not? Wouldn't you like to know more about her?_

He did. An irresistible, sick sort of curiosity that wanted to know what she had that had so touched- his heart twisted, stomach turned, even to think of it. But he wanted to know. She was a link to everything he was trying to avoid. Wise to stay away.

Few had ever accused him of excessive prudence. "Why not?" he said, easily, and summoned a glib smile. "I am at your service, lady."

~.~

They left the compound to go to a little shop in the nearest town, seventeen miles out. Foster drove, and Loki decided that he very much disliked traveling on the dust and gravel roads that they were following. They were about a mile out from the boundary Loki had not crossed except for mission purposes when Foster broke the silence between them.

"Have we met?" she asked, eyebrows pulled together, and Loki could not keep himself from stiffening.

"I don't believe so."

"Then have I done something to piss you off since we _did _meet?"

The way she asked the question took him off guard. Direct, matter-of-fact, as though she truly wanted to know, not asking to hear assurances of innocence. Genuinely asking. "No," he said, truthfully. _I hated you before I ever saw your face. _

The thought flashed across his mind that he could kill her now. Arrange her death, easily enough; only mortal, after all, and so fragile. No one here had any reason to suspect him, if he was careful. And the next time Thor looked down at Midgard…

The thought passed.

Foster made a face. "Okay," she said finally, "If you're sure." The sideways glance at him said that she doubted it, but Loki pretended not to notice. Her eyes moved forward again a moment later. "So…you're not from around here."

Loki resisted the urge to sigh. "Roslyn," he guessed, but Jane gave him an odd look.

"No, actually. Phil – Coulson, I mean. He's had me looking at readings since you…uh. Landed. I guess I am kind of the resident expert. Well, Erik is, really – Dr. Selvig? – but he's apparently otherwise occupied."

_He knows, _was Loki's first wild, frantic thought. _Who you are, what you've done. He sends her- _but even before the thought completed he dismissed it. If they knew, there would have been some action taken. "Mm," he said, expression placidly indifferent even if his thoughts boiled underneath. "I see."

"Though really," Foster went on, "I'm out of my depth. We don't even really understand Einstein-Rosen bridges at this point, and the readings that got picked up when you landed were completely different from the ones in New Mexico-"

The Einstein-Rosen bridge, Loki gathered, must be the human name for the Bifrost. He felt a reluctant little quiver of interest that he tried to quash, but not quickly enough. "How so?"

Foster glanced sideways at him, seeming surprised at the question. Or perhaps surprised that he was still in the car; there'd been a bit of the tone to her voice that made him think her mind had begun to wander. (_Familiar? _Murmured a voice at the back of his mind, and he shoved it back.) "It's a little complicated," she said, slowly. "And if you don't have a background in astrophysics, which I'm guessing…"

Loki's smile felt sharp to him, almost more of a baring of teeth. "Try me." Foster looked briefly taken aback before her eyes swiftly turned forwards, and Loki tried to moderate his tone. "If you avoid too much technical terminology, I may be able to follow better than you think."

"Okay. Well. An Einstein-Rosen bridge is exactly what it sounds like – a bridge. Another name for it's a wormhole, and it's basically – a shortcut through space. The one in New Mexico – as far as readings can tell, is apparently a kind called a Morris-Thorne wormhole, allowing travel both ways, that can be opened and closed…apparently at will. And that shows up as a certain kind of readings on the machines, which at this point we can…sort of recognize. But when you turned up it was more like…" She frowned. "Well. That's the thing. I don't really know, but the readings don't look anything like the ones from the Bi- the Einstein-Rosen bridge in New Mexico. Smaller scale, for one – if you think of New Mexico's as a volcano, it's like Krakatoa to…well, maybe one of those Hawaiian ones. Massive difference in terms of radiation, air pressure changes, ripple effect…"

_Bifrost, _she'd almost called it. Loki pushed aside old memories that tried to well up (but how does it _work?_) and interrupted with, "How long have you been researching this phenomena?"

"Oh…" Jane made a face. "Five or six years? I started poking at it for my undergrad thesis, and since then…but to be honest I hadn't made a lot of progress until…recently."

Five or six years, Loki thought. Hardly the blink of an eye – well, perhaps not in mortal terms, but far swifter than he had expected; the Bifrost was…had been…a complicated thing. His curiosity welled up and he pushed it back down, reminded himself that he wanted nothing from her.

"And did your interstellar visitor explain this to you?" he asked, and then wanted to curse himself. This had been a bad idea. He ought to have found a way out of it, could have, simply enough, why was he _here-_

(Curiosity, his own mind answered, readily enough. You wanted to know her. This woman who so captured Thor's eye and his heart.)

"Not really," Jane said, looking almost as though she wanted to laugh. "He just kind of…well, to him I guess it wasn't really a big deal. No, mostly it was actually seeing it in action that finally gave me something concrete to study." She exhaled, and looked briefly frustrated. "Though that's kind of stalled now, since…uh. I don't know how much of this you already know."

_All of it, _Loki thought, _and far more intimately than you. _"You are not boring me."

"Well – good, but I'm also not really supposed to talk about it. SHIELD secrecy and all." She glanced at Loki sharply, starting to blush. "Not that I've got anything against-"

"Go ahead and have anything you like against," Loki said smoothly. "I do not take it personally." _Not you. _"I do know that the wormhole you are talking about has…" how would humans put it? "…ceased to be active. If that helps you know what you may say."

"Yeah," Jane – _Foster, _when had he begun thinking of her so informally? – said, after a moment. "Something happened, and the connection, for lack of a better analogy, got cut. But I've got enough data to work with for now, at least, so…" She sounded casual enough, as though her sole concern was with her research, but Loki could hear the slight trace of wistfulness that he suspected Foster herself might not be aware of.

_You miss him, _he thought. _Three days, and you miss him. That's what he does, isn't it, pulls people in, makes them his, makes them _need-

(I miss him too.)

He realized he'd been silent for too long, watching the desert slip by unseeing when Foster cleared her throat. "So how did you…" she asked, and Loki felt his stomach knot.

"I know not," he said, voice suddenly flat. "I was not fully aware at the time."

"—oh," she said, and then looked fretful, apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Something bubbled up his chest and he didn't swallow it back in time to keep a slightly hysterical laugh silent. "For what would _you _apologize?"

Jane – _Foster _looked puzzled. "I didn't mean to…well, I guess I can't think it was fun, and you had a look on your face."

Clever, Loki thought, she was clever and kind and had no idea who he was and Norns, he liked her. Sif without Sif's defensive, brittle edges and with the mind of a scholar. He wondered if she had spoken of her theories to Thor, if Thor had sat and listened without understanding as he once had for Loki-

"No, not that one," she said, frown deepening. "Little more 'let's not talk about it' and a little less 'you just killed my puppy, Jane, you monster'-"

Loki shook his head, one sharp, brief jerk. "It is – you needn't apologize." It came out sharper than he meant it to, and Foster gave him a strange, sidelong look as she turned onto a busier road.

"If you say so. Anyone ever told you you're a little weird?"

Loki choked on that for a moment, but managed to summon a smile that felt easier, more genuine, than he thought it probably should have. "Any number of times," he said. And did not add, _and not just here. _

"Hey," said Foster, brightening a touch and perhaps, Loki thought, looking faintly relieved. "Here we are."

~.~

The coffee was mediocre but not particularly good. The conversation was…

"That doesn't make any sense," she protested again. "You can't have it both ways."

"I didn't make the rules," Loki said airily. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Then explain it to me."

"I have." Loki gestured at the napkins scattered across the table, covered with scrawls and images and he had come _very _close to simply showing her but he did not think that was wise.

"But how can something be _there _and _not-there _at the same time? It's a paradox. Not to mention what you're saying about something existing across dimensions – 'touching all and none.'" She huffed. "I want to say you're bullshitting me but I don't think you are. But that doesn't make _sense._" She was so _close. _If he could just think of a way to put things so that…

He came up short, remembering, belatedly, with whom he was discussing this, and nearly shoved himself back from the table he'd been leaning in toward. In the heat of the moment, he'd nearly forgotten. He didn't like her. Or didn't intend to. But…

He'd taken her for passing clever, and been perhaps impressed by her knowledge of the Bifrost – more than, he thought wryly, many who had used it. But even Loki had to admit that she was more than 'passing.' Limited, of course, by the bounds of human knowledge, but introduced to new things she adapted quickly. The longer they spoke, the more his already existing strange, slightly uneasy feeling grew. And she kept looking at him like she was trying to puzzle something out.

"It just _is,_" Loki said finally, feeling a twinge of mingled frustration and something that tasted slightly wistful. "I do not know how better to put it."

"Then you're probably not trying hard enough," said Jane, tartly, and Loki stared at her, for a moment nearly incredulous, and then could not help a small, brief laugh. Jane narrowed her eyes. "What's funny?"

"Seldom do people speak to me as you are. They seem to find me…intimidating."

"I'm pretty hard to intimidate," Jane said, and Loki could see that. Could imagine her looking up the foot or more to Thor and-

_Why are you doing this to yourself? Like digging a knife into your own flesh. _But he _liked _her. Damn him. Damn _her. _"So it would seem." He looked around them, trying to think how he would explain this. He had never been much of a teacher. Jane seemed to be thinking as well, however.

"Maybe it's like…hm. Tangent to a circle? But tangent to nine circles at the same time, how is that…"

"I shall consider it," Loki said, with a sigh. "See if I can find some better way to make you see, and contact you – if I may," he added, belatedly, and realized that he didn't know how long she was staying, or even if. That thought made him want to frown.

"Hey, sure," Jane said, picking up some of the written on napkins and drawing on them. "Like I said, that's kind of why I'm here. To pick your brain about this stuff, and SHIELD's got me giving them some kine of report in the next few days, so…" she shrugged.

Loki felt the corners of his mouth curve up. "But you are not…employed. I gather."

"No," said Jane, emphatically, "And I'm not going to be, either. Not interested, so don't think-"

"I was not about to try," Loki cut in smoothly. He took another sip of his coffee, the last of it besides the dregs. Jane was watching him again, a slight frown between her eyebrows. "Something troubling you?"

"No," she said, slowly, and then added, "Maybe. I'm not sure. It's just…" she rubbed her left eye. "Probably nothing."

Loki had a strange, sinking feeling in his stomach. Which of course meant… "Now you've got me curious."

Jane eyed him silently for a few moments, then propped her chin on her hands. "It's just - you're from Asgard, aren't you?" she asked quietly, and Loki froze.

_She knows. She knows who you are and what you tried to do – _he stared at her, but she didn't look angry or upset or…anything. Just puzzled.

"It made sense," she went on. "Just…the timing, and there's a certain sort of…some similarities that can't be accounted for between New Mexico and your…um. And it's just…odds. Too. Everyone always says that aliens wouldn't look anything like us, and having two completely human looking aliens turning up around the same time from completely different places…"

If she'd put it together, he thought, SHIELD certainly had. Did they also know, then – or did they assume his was an unfortunate casualty to an unrelated incident? How much had Thor told them? How much had he _said?_

_Kill her and run, _murmured a voice at the back of his mind. _They wouldn't notice your absence for a little while. And you could stay ahead of them, could you not…_

Foster faltered. "…Luke?"

He felt frozen. Foolish. _The Bifrost is broken, _he reminded himself forcefully. _There's no way to communicate with Asgard. They cannot know who I am or surely…_ "Clever," he said, distantly, and blinked, forced himself to focus and center on her face. She looked pale. Nervous, not scared.

"You're his…his brother, aren't you."

Loki swallowed. It should have been fury he felt. It wasn't. "I am not." A bald-faced lie that was also a truth. He wasn't. He never had been.

"No," she said, "No, it…you knew about New Mexico but SHIELD didn't say anything about another Asgardian, so you haven't told them. You appeared pretty quickly after he went to deal with family business, and – oh Jesus." She went a little paler. "You _are._ You tried to _kill _him!"

Loki was briefly thankful that he'd thought to mute their conversation to anyone else in the coffee shop. He settled his chin on his hands. "He is no brother of mine. And I _did_ kill him. Briefly." He knew it was not the right thing to say, but he could feel a dull resignation sinking into his bones. Her expression shifted to enraged.

"How could you-" she sputtered, jerking to her feet. Loki gave her a disinterested stare. "So, what, are you in Earth time-out too? No, from what Roslyn was saying you've still got all your – whatever, _that's _why you kept looking at me funny, hell-"

"No one from Asgard knows I am here." Loki did not lower his eyes. He waited. Of course he could do something. Of course he could make her forget or lock her lips to speaking of this or…but of course none of that mattered, and besides, the reason not to…

It was like a kind of vertigo.

Foster was staring at him, eyes wide, seeming torn between nervousness and anger. She sat down, slowly. "What are you doing?"

"Here?" Loki shrugged one shoulder. "In essence, what you see."

"You're working for SHIELD." Foster sounded deeply skeptical. Well, Loki thought, at least somebody recognized the humor of it.

"They made a convincing offer."

Foster stared at him. He could almost see her shuffling, shifting around pieces of their conversation, coming to new conclusions. _What did Thor tell you about me, _he both did and didn't want to ask. He wondered if she would ask what had happened to her _beloved_. Wondered if she did, what he would say.

After a long moment, she stood, somewhat jerkily, and took a step back. Her face was hard, unreadable. "Well," she said. "Well. That's just _great._ That's just-" Loki kept his face impassive, and waited. She took a deep breath and let it out. "If I leave you here can you get back on your own?"

"Yes," Loki said, after a moment.

"Good," she said. "Cause I'm not letting you back in my car."

Loki felt fierce, hot anger well up in him. "You would judge me for what you don't understand," he said, lowly, "you would think to-"

"I judge your _killing and wounding _most of the population of a small town just to get to your _brother!_" She turned toward the door and then stopped, her back to him. "I think I understand just fine. I don't want you in my car."

Loki's jaw tightened. He took three deep breaths through his nose. "—fine."

"It's too bad," she said, turning around again, looking at him, that friendly face now hard lines. "I thought…is Thor dead?" Her tone was flat, but he heard just the slightest tremble, and a dark, vicious part of him wanted to lie, _yes, I killed him. _

"No," he said. She nodded, and walked out the door. Her back was stiff, as though she was waiting for him to strike. Expecting it, perhaps.

He could have stopped her. He didn't. Loki watched her walk away, and felt the most peculiar sense of loss.

**Interlude (XI)**

If he had expected Megan to become less peculiar with the passing of time, he was disappointed. She remained as perplexing as ever. Speaking with her was, however, a swift education in at least some matters, as she never failed to give him an odd look and a 'you talk weird' or occasionally 'what do you mean, you don't know Disney?'

It occurred to him sometimes, standing in the back room amid stacks of books and writing them down in inventory, how strange this was. If he thought too much about it, it chafed. Bitterly. But his safety was in being inconspicuous, and he would not remain inconspicuous long if he did not fit into the human mode of living. A job. A home (for now, still a hotel). Small things, yes, but they were his.

He'd been working relatively without incident for three weeks when he realized that he was being followed.

His trackers kept a safe distance, but – bounty hunters, he thought at first, and nearly panicked. But they were mortal, and that struck him as unlikely. The Aesir would know, if they knew he was here, that he could kill more mortals than they could send without rousing notice.

No, this was something else.

Loki let them follow without incident for a few days, giving no sign that he had noticed anything amiss, and on the fourth took a different route home from the bookstore, turning right into a narrow street and then cloaking himself from sight.

The man followed fifteen paces behind, convincingly casual. Built powerfully, for a mortal. Loki summoned one of his knives to his hand and shifted into motion as the man slowed, looking puzzled by the empty street.

He grabbed the man by the back of the neck and threw him bodily into a nearby wall. Then Loki stalked over before he could rise and hauled him up, putting the knife neatly against the pounding of his pulse and uncloaking himself. "Who sent you?" he demanded.

Not subtle, perhaps, but whoever dared to send spies after him ought to know with whom they were meddling.

The man looked dazed, and Loki did not bother to be terribly gentle about reaching into his mind and plucking out his name and errand. Then he dropped him, hackles rising.

"So," he said. "That's it."

He'd been careful. But apparently there was someone who'd noticed he was not only what he seemed. Someone who wanted him to serve them. Do work for them. The tails had been sent to feel him out and then to gauge his response to the offer. In case of an unfavorable response, he was to be…persuaded.

The man – Brian Mckean – was watching him and breathing hard. The knife, Loki realized, had nicked the skin, just enough to set a slow but steady bleed down the side of his neck. "Listen carefully," Loki said, smoothly. "Because I'm only going to say this once."

Loki watched Mr. Mckean stagger away, casting alarmed glances over his shoulder every few steps, Loki's warning firmly planted in his mind. He'd made sure of it.

When he was gone, Loki let out a slow breath. Hopefully it would be enough.

If it hadn't been…

Loki banished the knife back to the safe place where he kept it, checked his clothes for blood, and turned to make the rest of his way back to the hotel.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Note: __Another timely update? What's happening here! (I'M SURE I DON'T KNOW.)_

_Once again, with all my love and thanks to the wonderful zaataronpita, who not only betas the finished product but puts up with a lot of flailing and whining along the way._

_Other notes at this point in the story for the fact that this is looking like it's going to be a lot longer than I thought it was going to be. So...shiiiiiit._

* * *

Loki lingered just long enough to finish his coffee, and transported himself back into his room. Undoubtedly he'd made it back before Foster, given the time it would take for her to drive. What would she say when she returned? How much did she know, how much did she guess, and if SHIELD knew (and he had to think that they did) then why had they made no move, said nothing…

Perhaps they had not leaped to the same conclusion Jane had. There was no real reason for them to. They'd never seen his face, and if Thor had told them little…was it not possible that they would think he was simply another Asgardian, no relation, no connection? Why else hold their silence?

(_Let your quarry think it's safe_, a murmur at the back of his mind. _Put them at ease. Then close the trap._ Was that it?)

He paced back and forth, the short distance his room allowed. _You were a fool to speak to her. A fool to let your curiosity overrun your sense. _He ought to have been able to keep her from seeing, though, ought to have been able to keep his secrets.

The disquieting though occurred to him that perhaps he hadn't wanted to. Perhaps some part of him had wanted her to see him for himself, know what he'd done, and react – how? Had he expected her to treat him kindly? To be a confidant, a _friend_?

Or had he, rather, expected her to react just as she had, with anger, disgust, revulsion. And that was what he'd wanted, perhaps even what he'd _needed…_

Loki pushed that thought away with something approaching savagery. He was not quite so pathetic as that. Surely.

His rooms felt too small, too enclosed. If they did not already know…what did it matter? Foster would tell them, assuredly. And then - and then what? How would SHIELD react? He could not guess, not and be sure it would be accurate.

He couldn't stay here, waiting. But at the same time, what action could he take? If he had intended to stop Foster it should have been before she'd left. Now…going to Coulson he risked revealing too much, and his alternative resources were somewhat _limited. _

The walls felt like they were closing in, tightening like a noose around his neck.

Snarling, Loki threw his door open and stalked out. If there was nothing else he could do, at the very least he could expel some of this nervous energy the tried and true way of exercise, and if there was no one he could spar with at the very least the activity might help him center, focus. Think clearly.

(He should never have spoken to the damned woman. What had he expected to gain, what had he expected would be bettered by conversing with her?)

Loki ignored the sidelong glances he received as he stalked through the hallways, half expecting someone to stop him or try to attack. No one did, though a few did seem to hasten to get out of his way, prompting Loki to smooth his features to calm impassivity and to attempt to smooth his mind to the same. The former was more successful than the latter.

He let himself through the door of the room he'd been heading for and let out a sigh of relief at finding it unoccupied. It was not, perhaps, ideal, but it would do. This practice range wasn't meant for knives, but it was decidedly better than nothing.

Loki called his in and took up his stance. Flung three knives in quick succession, marked their location, and called them back.

It startled him, that Thor had taken to this woman, rather than any other. Quick minded, intelligent, stubborn…in another life, he might have approved. Might have looked at Foster and despite her mortality found her a better sister in law than the other women Thor had seemed taken with before.

(Always Thor. Always, his thoughts circled back to Thor. No matter how distant he might be from him, _always-_ He flung the knives again in rapid succession, noted the position, snarled at the inaccuracy, and called them back.)

Her expression was vivid in his mind. Why did it bother him? She was mortal. She had no right to judge him, she knew nothing of him but what little Thor might have said or what bastardized human myths claimed. What was her judgment? No real concern but what she might reveal to SHIELD, and even if she did – there was no proof. Her word against his…

(But who would believe your word? Who ever… Loki exhaled a few short, stacatto breaths, and threw the knives again. _Thunk-thunk-thunk. _The punctuation sharp sound of his knives hitting their target was at least marginally satisfying.)

And if they moved against him, what did it matter? He was stronger than them. It would be inconvenient, unpleasant, but – _Margaret. _What of her? Would they hurt her to bring him to heel? He thought not, but…

_Monster _whispered in the back of his mind, echoed in the look on her face. Not because of Thor. He would have expected her anger on Thor's behalf. _Killing and wounding most of a small town…_

He hadn't thought of them, Loki realized. Not as people. Not really. They were of as little interest to him as insects, small, irrelevant but for Thor's strange and sudden fondness for them. Why would it matter, after all, their lives so short and pointless anyway? He tried to think of a town of those mortals he'd become somewhat fond of himself, if Ms. Fairfax and Angela, say, were victims of something similar. If one of those fools targeting him, perhaps, had been a touch stronger, enough to-

Loki shied from that, not quite able to face the disquiet feeling in his chest.

He felt the weight of one of his blades in his hand, looked down the range at his target. He took a deep breath and centered himself, forcing his thoughts blank and himself calm. It had never been easy, that sort of mental exercise, but necessary for magic, and so he had learned, eventually, to control his thoughts and make them as quiet as they ever would be. To empty himself and set all things aside save the moment and the task itself.

Shifting his stance, he cast the first knife into the shoulder of the roughly human shaped target, the second into its throat, and the last blade into the eye of the roughly human shaped target he'd been practicing with. He breathed out a sigh and, finally feeling somewhat steadied, strode forward to pull them out physically rather than with magic.

"You're good with those."

Loki fell still. He truly had let his emotions get the better of him, if it had allowed someone to enter and observe without his notice. He considered for a moment, then didn't turn, instead taking the last few steps to the target and beginning to work his knives free. "I try."

"It's customary to thank someone for a compliment, you know."

"I'm aware of the custom." Loki pulled the last knife free and turned to look at Barton where he was leaning against a wall at the other end of the range. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Not really, no." He stretched, perhaps a touch ostentatiously. Loki was not fooled by his apparent relaxation. His eyes were as sharp as he remembered, and if he looked thoughtful rather than tense…that did not seem sufficient reason for him to be at ease.

"Just passing by?" Loki said, voice a touch dry.

"No," Barton said, after a moment. "Not that either." He straightened, bearing shifting slightly to something not quite wary. "Tasha likes you."

Loki blinked, and could not quite keep his, "She does?" as bland as he wanted it to be.

"Hm," Barton said, and crossed his arms, still watching Loki narrowly. "Yeah. Seems like."

Loki loosened his shoulders and shrugged. "I see. And you thought I needed informing of this?"

"Not really." He leaned back against the wall. "Tasha pointed out a few things. You got us started off on the wrong foot, but…" He trailed off and eyed Loki. "She doesn't like a whole lot of people. You're lucky." He paused. "Or unlucky, maybe, I guess. She supposedly likes Stark too and that doesn't seem to help him."

He felt a peculiar flush of pleasure at that, and quashed it at once. When had the opinions of mortals begun mattering so much to him? "I should hope," Loki said dryly, "I am a great deal less trying than I gather Stark is."

"Ah," said Barton, looking like he wanted to grin. "So you've met."

"Briefly." Loki watched the man closely, trying to puzzle out what his game was. What he wanted, if there was something other than what he claimed or… Barton looked like he wanted to laugh for a moment, but it passed, and he pushed off the wall and sauntered over.

Loki did not quite let himself tense.

"So," Barton said, "throwing knives, huh? Wouldn't expect you to use – you know, normal people weapons, with the whole…" he made an eloquent hand gesture probably intended to communicate magic. Loki did not let himself wince, knowing that the low flicker of anger in his belly was not truly directed at the archer.

"Relying too much on any one skillset is, I have found, a risky proposition."

Barton snorted. "I can see why Tasha'd like you," he said, and Loki blinked, slightly taken aback. Barton seemed to have relaxed slightly, though, which seemed likely to be a good sign.

"Was there something in particular you wanted to say?" Loki asked, and heard the prickle in his own tone but could not quite regret it. "I was practicing."

"Keeping your skills sharp?" Barton said, with a grin that reminded Loki peculiarly of Fandral. Loki cast him a scathing look, but Barton just snickered. "Hey. It was too good to pass up."

"If you are not careful I might find teleporting you to an isolated island too good to pass up," Loki said, without thinking, and then tensed. _Mind your tongue, fool._

The man did for a moment look like he was going to snarl, but then he snorted, and if the way he relaxed looked suspiciously deliberate... "Yeah," he said, "and then Natasha'd kill you, so…"

Loki blinked, feeling a strange little twist of confusion, his immediate reaction to snarl at the threat _as if she could _but it was spoken with such banal lack of feeling that...a jest? He hovered for a moment, indecisive, then simply said, "More's the pity," with a slightly edged smile, and if Barton gave him an odd look, it did not seem hostile. That was strangely gratifying.

As was the subsequent shrug. "Practicing, huh? All right. You're not the only one with ranged weapons to work with." The man rubbed his hands together and paced to a cabinet of what Loki supposed must be spare weapons. He selected a bow from among them and eyed it. "Not great, and definitely not mine, but…" he glanced back at Loki, who watched him, quiet.

"Waiting for something?" he asked, after a moment.

"For you to make clear what it is you want," Loki said flatly, and something flickered across Barton's face that he couldn't quite read. Something about it disquieted him, though, left him feeling decidedly strange.

"Are we talking general or specifics?" he asked, after a moment, and when Loki just looked at him, half grinned in a way that didn't quite look genuine. "I don't take back what I said about the weird. But like I said, Tasha seems to like you. So I figured maybe I'd better take a second look."

Loki felt…strange. At once cornered and not, like he'd stepped into water without intending to but found it soothingly warm. _Likely he just wanted to know that you were not a threat to his lover, _a scathing voice at the back of his mind said, but Loki pushed that one down into near silence.

Barton stepped forward and lifted his bow, giving him a sidelong look. "Hey," he said. "You ever take wagers?"

"That depends somewhat on the wager," Loki said, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"Huh," said Barton, and then grinned, a little. "Let's see if we can come up with something appropriate."

~.~

He won, of course. Though it was nearer than he'd have expected. Barton didn't seem to take it poorly, though, and in deference to that Loki kept his gloating to…fairly minimum.

Returning to his room, he felt…calmer. More balanced. Less certain of impending disaster, or at least mostly less certain of it. And if the whole interaction had been peculiar…it was not in such a bad way. Barton might even be tolerable. Given time.

He felt an unwilling smile quirk his mouth as he turned the corner into his hallway.

Foster was waiting outside his door.

He stopped the moment he saw her hovering there, and considered hiding himself and waiting for her to leave, but that seemed…absurdly cowardly. No one had come to take him captive or accuse him of any crime, so perhaps…

Loki quashed that thought before it was completed.

She turned just as he decided to approach her, and between one moment and the next her faintly nervous expression disappeared and she drew herself up, armored in professionalism. He waited, watching her, for Foster to make the first move.

After a moment, she cleared her throat. "Agent Silver," she said, with a peculiar kind of emphasis on that name that Loki did not fail to note. "I wanted to…thank you for the insight you shared with me today. I'm sure it will be helpful."

Loki searched her eyes. They were wary, cautious, but not outright hostile. She hadn't voiced her suspicions, Loki realized, with a small giddy rush of relief. For whatever reason…she hadn't said anything about him to SHIELD. "You are welcome," he said, slowly. "Always a pleasure to share knowledge with one who…appreciates it."

Foster looked like she wanted to drop his gaze and look elsewhere. Or perhaps like she wanted to rip his throat out with her bare hands. Loki was not entirely certain which it was. "If it's not an imposition, I would like…to make a request."

She was bold. He'd give her that. "Yes?"

"I'm sure you have a great deal of information that would be useful to me." Foster met his eyes, her gaze startlingly frank. "I'd like you to agree to meet with me once a week. Here, on premises."

Loki let his mouth twist in a wry, crooked smile, and nearly said, _in exchange for your silence, I assume. _But he held that back, and merely inclined his head. His feelings of balance, of calm, were ebbing quickly away. "I don't find that proposal disagreeable."

Foster's nod was small and tense. She stepped away from his door, and then paused. "I'm going to want to know what happened," she said. "Between you and Thor, I mean. That caused…all of that." She turned, and Loki found himself relieved, because he could almost feel his expression spasm. "So…fair warning."

"And if I don't wish to speak to you about something so…_personal?_"

"Too bad," Foster said, flatly. "You made it pretty personal to me, too. Figure it out." She walked away, straight backed and without glancing over her shoulder, though he could read some nervousness in her shoulders. Probably, he could cow her easily enough. For a time, at least.

_No,_ he thought, then. _No, I don't think so._

And Thor loved her. For just a moment, Loki dug the knife in, pictured the two of them together. Happy.

He swept the mental image away, forcing it to shatter. What did it matter? Thor was not here.

(And he was, and here again, everything he most wanted to forget shoved back in his face, like salt rubbed into a wound. _What happened between you and Thor. _As though it were that simple. As though…)

_You'll have to face it eventually. _

But he didn't want to. Not yet.

**Interlude (XII)**

There was no trouble for a week after his confrontation in the alley with his tail. No new followers, things quiet at work (Megan as strange as ever). Loki felt – almost good about the state of things. Almost. Not quite.

The wariness lingered, and unease he couldn't quite shake, strange certainty that something was going to go wrong, and soon.

He'd begun looking for an apartment, however, and was finding the experience…decidedly frustrating. Particularly as asking anyone for assistance seemed likely to raise questions about his living situation, and he was not entirely certain that an extended stay of quite such duration was standard in Midgardian lodgings.

Loki was shelving books on a Friday when he became aware of Megan's eyes on him. He turned to look at her and raised his eyebrows in silent question, to which she looked entirely unphased. "What do you do?" she asked, suddenly. He blinked, and did not quite stiffen.

"Beg pardon?"

"When you're not working," she said. "What do you do? You never talk about friends or anyone, nobody calls you…I'm just wondering. You're a mystery wrapped in an enigma."

Loki felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine. "Does it matter what I do with my spare time?"

Megan shrugged. "I guess not. Mostly just…I dunno. You seem a little lonely sometimes." She snorted a little. "I mean, that's the only reason you talk to me, I figure, cause you don't seem to actually like me very much." She did not, oddly, sound troubled by that fact, but Loki found himself frowning.

"I do not _dis_like you," he said, carefully, which was…true. Perhaps even had a peculiar kind of fondness for her. Megan and her strangeness. Her father – her birth father, though she seldom called him even that – called her at least once a week, and Loki listened to their terse conversations and Megan's tight, unhappy expression and noticed how she never failed to call her family later that day. She brought cookies into work sometimes. Gave Loki long and rambling recommendations of books he did not intend to read and found himself enjoying anyway.

"Mmmhm," Megan said, narrowing her eyes. "High praise. Anyway. If you ever felt like doing something…I technically speaking have a life, but not that much of one. So…"

Loki blinked at her, slightly uncomprehending. Megan almost grimaced. "Wow," she said, "I can't decide if that expression is adorable or a little bit sad."

Loki pressed his lips together and frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"You, beanpole," Megan said, and, peculiarly, waggled her eyebrows. "Me. Movie tonight. What do you think?"

"I – suppose," Loki said, still somewhat taken aback, and Megan grinned at him as though he'd said something wonderful.

"Excellent," she said. "I'm thinking you're probably not a rom-com kind of person, so maybe something with explosions or something…"

Loki tuned her out, mind going back to the first thing that she'd said. _Lonely. _Was he? He hadn't thought about it, at least not really, not in depth or detail. But…he'd never been overfond of company. He'd always spent most of his time alone.

(Not always by choice, murmured a small voice at the back of his mind.)

But here…on Midgard…sometimes it did weigh on him. The being alone, being unknown, isolated from everything he knew or thought he had known without, really, much else to grab hold of. But wasn't that his intention? Getting too close to any mortals was not only an absurd notion, but likely to be dangerous. He felt another tingle of nervousness down his spine.

And yet…

One night, he thought, one movie. What could it hurt? It could not be weakness, to allow himself that much. Nor dangerous. To refuse now would, besides, be odd.

Perhaps it would be pleasant.

Cautiously, quietly, he let himself anticipate.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: _I gotta say, this chapter was one of the most painful to write. In a lot of ways. I hope it doesn't show too much. Further notes...a (friendly!) reminder that this story will remain almost painfully gen, and that I still don't have a really marked out trajectory for how long it's going to get. Also that I am a total comics noob, and using canon in all kinds of fun ways to serve my needs, and I am _so sorry_ if I am butchering your favorite comics people (by virtue of being less familiar with them).

That said - once again, thank you to zaataronpita for betaing for me, and loving me in spite of the fact that I wordvomit about Loki at her on a regular basis. You're the best, my dear.

* * *

"Silver."

Loki woke from restless sleep (clouded with dreams of Thor and Jane, of Thor alone, of Jane alone holding Mjolnir and looking down at him with disgust writ large in her features) and just managed not to lash out at the figure leaning over his bed. "Get up," said the same voice, and it only took Loki a moment to identify it as Romanov's. "Don't make too much noise. You're expected on the third floor, conference room 306, in about five minutes." She took a step back. "It's urgent."

Any remaining clouds in Loki's mind cleared. She sounded tense, if not nervous. That, he thought, didn't seem typical. "I'll be there momentarily," he said. Romanov nodded curtly and exited through his door, which Loki frowned at. He'd thought he'd set a magical lock on it. Apparently not.

He dressed quickly and took the elevator up to the third floor, paced down the hallway and entered the room Romanov had indicated. He paused for a bare moment, taking in Fury, a woman he didn't recognize, and Coulson. Not, curiously enough, Romanov.

"This is somewhat atypical," he said, mostly to Coulson, but it was Fury who answered.

"There's an atypical situation." His voice was short and clipped, and sounded displeased as Loki remembered, but businesslike. "A disturbance at a summit concerning technological advances."

"A disturbance," Loki echoed, keeping his voice neutral. Something about the slight pause before 'advances' made him suspect something less mundane, though he thought somewhat wryly that with SHIELD, that was hardly a surprise. "That's suitably vague."

Fury's expression twitched. The woman's remained unamused. "The exact nature of it isn't entirely clear," she said, after a moment's pause, probably waiting to see if Fury would speak. "That's part of why we called you here."

Called, Loki thought, like a dog, and quashed that thought. Letting his temper go did not seem likely to be productive, and likely the word choice was careless. He would give her the benefit of the doubt. "Indeed." He glanced at Coulson, whose placid expression betrayed nothing, and then back to Fury. "So you wish me to…see if I can ascertain what the trouble is."

"Yes." At least, Loki thought, you could give Fury that he was direct. The less kind might say 'blunt.'

Loki settled back on his heels. "What do you know thus far?"

"Communications are down." Coulson spoke, now, and Loki wondered, vaguely, if they had a designated order of some kind, which thought was of course absurd. "We haven't been able to get any kind of electronic feed from the building or adjacent buildings within about a two block radius for roughly an hour now, and it doesn't look like a tech bug."

"And there has been no word from the authorities of the place itself?" Loki asked, and the three before him exchanged glances. Loki felt his eyebrows creep up. "Ah," he said, "I see. Where is this summit being held?"

"Latveria," Fury said. Loki frowned.

"I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar."

"You've got twenty minutes to get familiar," Fury said, shoving a file folder across the table at him. Loki picked it up and eyed it. "Then teleport your ass over there and find out what's going on. Preferably without causing an international incident."

"I take it this is to be a solitary jaunt," Loki said, removing his gaze from Fury and addressing his words to Coulson instead. He disliked the man, and his tone, and knew the feeling was mutual. If there was little enough he wished to do to truly aggravate his allegedly formidable temper (at least not at this juncture), at least he could deal out some petty annoyances.

"On the ground, yes," Coulson said. "We'll have a team in the air – including Barton and Romanov – hopefully in contact with you, if we can get communications in without them cutting out as well. They're there to help, in case things take a turn downhill." Was it just his ear, Loki wondered, or did he hear the slightest emphasis on _help_?

"I shall keep that in mind," Loki said. "Anything else?"

"This is intended to be a recon mission only," Fury said, and perhaps Loki was optimistic to think there was a small increase in his usual frustration. "First priority is finding out what's going on. We'll handle it from there. So don't…get flashy. In, out, and report."

_And if you cannot 'handle it'? _Loki thought sardonically. He smiled, though, and turned his focus back to Fury only to offer a mocking bow.

"Understood," he said, in the particular pleasant tone that had driven a few diplomatic ambassadors almost to fits. "In that case, I have a file to read. Shall I inform you when I depart?"

"That won't be necessary," said Fury. His teeth grinding was not quite audible, but he looked like he was thinking about it. Loki kept his mouth from twitching. "We've worked out a way to track your… signature."

Loki blinked. And then recoiled. "You _what?_"

"We can discuss this later," Coulson said, with sudden vehemence. "We need to get moving and get eyes on this situation. Agent Silver-"

Loki collected himself, in spite of the prickles running up and down his spine, and closed his sudden anxiety away. For the moment, at least. He turned his focus back to Coulson. "Of course. This is priority, I understand." He turned, and strode toward the door. "I shall see to this. After, however…"

He let that hang, closing the door behind him without giving them the opportunity to respond. Another cold finger ran down his spine and he shook it off, focused his mind on the task at hand. He could consider the implications of this (small betrayal) new discovery later.

For the moment…he hefted the file in his hand. It would be good to be moving. Between Foster and now this…

He could use a task in which to submerge himself.

Loki lifted the file and flipped it open, beginning to read as he walked back to his room to collect a few things.

~.~

Loki landed in a crouch just outside of Doomstadt, the capital city of Latveria. Without more precise knowledge of the locale, it would be difficult to go closer precisely, and there was only so much one could glean from a map.

Straightening after a moment's pause to listen, seeing if he'd been overheard, Loki began to move toward the city itself – though city, he decided, looking at it now, somewhat overestimated the place. It looked…well. Like a provincial village in Asgard, far from the center of things. Some backwater, of little note but for the castle that loomed on the hill above it, dark and clumsy to Loki's eyes. Castle Von Doom, based on his reading. Residence of the monarch of this country, Victor von Doom.

Doomstadt. Castle Doom, with Doom Lake behind it. Someone, Loki thought with faint amusement, was assuredly fond of his own name.

Other than that…the file hadn't told him much. Victor von Doom was the autocratic ruler of Latveria and had been for some time. He'd studied in the United States and drawn praise as an intelligent young man from his tutors, but he'd left before completing his education for 'personal reasons' and returned to Latveria, where nothing was heard from him until he was declared monarch just over twelve years ago. Prior to his rise to power, Latveria had hardly been on the map. Constantly on the verge of being overtaken by more powerful neighbors, with little political influence and almost no resources to speak of.

Within a few years the country had stabilized, become economically self-sufficient based primarily on technological exports, and established itself as, if not a power, certainly a player. As for Doom himself…descriptions varied from "eccentric" to "mad". He made few public appearances outside of his own country. But he was an effective leader, and there had been no obvious signs of anything untoward until, it seemed, now.

Descending into Doomstadt, Loki adopted another face, only moments before he heard the whir of approaching machinery and looked up to see a cadre of approaching, vaguely man-shaped robots. Doombots, Loki recalled. The (again) suspiciously named force charged with the protection of Latveria's people. He tensed, slightly. Machines did not see the same way as humans; it might be they would see through his disguise.

They passed by, however, barely turning their metal heads to look at him. Loki considered calling out, requesting a guide and posing as a guest, but decided against it.

While knowing little of the situation made this rather exhilirating, recklessness was something else entirely.

It was midafternoon in Latveria, and yet, Loki noticed as he moved through the streets, everything seemed alarmingly quiet. A few people were wandering here and there, speaking with each other, but for a fine – if cool – afternoon, he would have expected more. It made him uneasy.

"_Silver?" _Romanov's voice sounded slightly tinny in his ear. _"I'm guessing you're already on the ground, huh? We're still on our way. Recommend external assessment of the situation until we're in range – should be about thirty minutes."_

"Swift," Loki murmured, barely moving his lips.

"_It'd better be. Anything obvious?"_

"No," Loki said, though there was something nagging at him, faintly familiar. A solitary Doombot passed him by, again scarcely looking in his direction. "Not immediately so."

"_Right. Thirty minutes, don't go in yet in case communications cut out for you too."_

"Mmm," Loki said, casually, and bent the world to land himself at the top of the hill, before the imposing castle doors – though, he noted critically, they had nothing on Asgard. Something was teasing down his spine and had been since he'd landed, and he was unwilling to wait. Loki examined the door, cocked his head to the side, then turned to the left and walked ten paces along the wall. Sure enough, there was a smaller door, for servants, he thought. Locked, but that was easily remedied. It clicked open at his touch.

"_You're going to ignore me, aren't you, Silver." _Romanov's voice sounded a little flatter.

"I hope you won't take offense," Loki murmured, checking through the door to find an empty hallway.

"_Don't be a hypocrite, Nat." _That was Barton's voice, followed by a decidedly non-conspiratorial, _"she does it all the time." _Loki felt his mouth twitch and suppressed it.

"_Shove it, Barton. All right, fine. I'll be expecting word from you in twenty minutes if communications cut out. I don't get it, Plan B kicks in."_

"Understood," Loki said, and stepped into the corridor.

He felt it immediately. Magic, not his own, almost tingling in his nose. Of a peculiar flavor, and different from his own, but nonetheless…he knew magecraft when he felt it. Loki narrowed his eyes. "There's a sorcerer here," he said, lowly. No answer. He frowned and extended his habitual protections out from his own skin to surround the device as well. Natasha's voice crackled back to life.

"_-just cut out – hold on, now you're back. What was that?" _

"There's a working in effect." Loki murmured.

"_A what?"_

"A working. A – spell, I suppose you might say." Loki took a slow step forward. The foreign magic still pushed at him, but without guidance Loki's mental barriers kept it well out. Loki wondered abstractly what it would do if they did not, and was disinclined to find out. "Not a bad piece of work, either."

"_A spell." _Natasha's voice had that flat, faintly unhappy note to it again._ "I see."_

"I was not aware there were those on Midgard with the talent for magecraft," Loki said, more to himself than anything, and then added, "I shall speak with you again shortly. For the moment…it's probably better if I use less spellwork for the moment if I wish to avoid being noticed."

"_Have f_-" Loki heard in Barton's voice before he relaxed his magic. He heard the faint fizzle of the device's surrender and cloaked himself from sight.

Padding down the servant's passage, he checked two doors before he heard the low drone of someone speaking through a door. There was a moment's pause, and then a smattering of applause. _Ah. _Loki slipped through it quietly and found himself in a room that would have felt more spacious if the lack of windows hadn't made it feel slightly oppressive. Loki was faintly – and probably foolishly – surprised by the abundance of electric lighting rather than, as Loki had half expected, flickering torches.

And it was empty. It looked as though it ought not to have been, but the carefully set up rows of chairs were empty. Loki frowned at them.

After a moment, he dropped the shield keeping him from sight and donned the same appearance he'd used walking through Doomstadt. That nudging against his mind kept pressing, trying to find a way in. He ignored it, moving smoothly over to another door.

It opened before he reached it, and Loki blinked at a man similarly dressed to him – in other words, what he'd seen the techs wear under their lab coats. At least the man before him looked equally startled. And equally harmless. "Did you get lost?" he said, after a moment. "The panel doesn't start for another hour. We are meeting in the other room."

Something prickled on the back of Loki's neck, but the man seemed – human, ordinary enough. "It seems I did," he said, summoning a sheepish smile to his borrowed face. "I was looking for the washroom, but…"

"It is easy to do here. If you follow me I can take you to the others."

Something was wrong here. Loki reached out, tentatively, with a small thread of magic, as the man turned his back. He touched nothing and drew back into himself, stomach roiling.

"Yes," he said, stepping forward to follow his escort. "I think that would be best."

~.~

Loki followed his ostensibly fellow scientist up a set of curving stairs, made periodic inane attempts at small talk that were ignored, and focused primarily on keeping his expression untroubled and casting his mind through all he knew to think how to manage the current situation.

It wasn't a man he was walking behind. Not anymore. Not really.

He thought suddenly, searingly, of Natasha's warning. Twenty minutes of silence before she acted and Loki glanced at the thing guiding him and felt a peculiar surge of fury. No. He would not _allow…_

Carefully, he moved his defenses again to encompass the device he carried and raised his voice just slightly. "Are there refreshments? I'm a little hungry."

"We will serve refreshments after the panel," said the thing leading him, and thinking about it led to remembering the feel of that mind, empty, blank like everything there had been wiped away, as waves washing away writing in sand. But in a _mind. _His stomach turned again and Loki forced the feeling down.

"Right," he said. "I'd forgotten." I am here, he hoped Romanov heard. I am alive, don't interfere. The woman was sensible, if her partner somewhat less so. She would understand.

He hoped.

Loki released that spell and began another working, carefully, retreating into himself to where it could not be seen except by someone exceptionally gifted. A gamble, perhaps, but a necessary one.

_Reconnaissance only, _murmured a small thought at the back of his mind. Loki let it hang there a moment, and dismissed it. No. Not anymore.

In this case, with this use of magic, Loki thought he might take it as personal affront.

"Are we nearly," Loki began to ask, with a hint of impatience, and was interrupted by his guide's sudden halt and his, "Here is where we have gathered."

"At long last," said Loki, with a smile, and stood back to let this blank, emptied man-thing open the door for him. Hopefully this would work. In theory, it ought to.

Loki had a great deal of experience with how well "in theory" applied to practicalities.

He stepped through the doors casually enough, gathering his will, and stopped. Perhaps sixty heads turned to look at him, pausing in their disinterested milling, but it wasn't them that Loki noted, though for a moment he was aware of their total emptiness and felt sick. Rather, the man standing at the head of the room, standing slightly above the rest, and armored head to toe in metal.

_Most likely Doom_, he thought, a touch dryly. He liked the man less and less and they had not even spoken yet. Well, he thought, moving further into the room, time, then, to-

Focused inward, he didn't feel the warning until his disguise shredded away from him. Loki whirled, bringing his will to bear, and met the stare of – well, Doom's metal faceplate. His eyes, he had to assume. "An impostor," he boomed, after a moment's pause. Loki cast him a thin smile.

"Yes, well," he said, and released his gathered working outward, like a wave, sweeping through this room of vacant minds and wiping away that haze over them like dust from an old bookshelf. He felt them, for one exquisite moment of victory, burst back into life. Alert. Aware.

He met Doom's eyes and smiled with pleased self satisfaction.

"I see," the man said, in that sonorous voice, amplified by some kind of machinery. "That is…inconvenient."

"Really," Loki said, beginning to grin a little wider, "you ought to have done better than to make your spell so easy to unravel."

"What the hell's going on?" asked a woman to Loki's left, rubbing her forehead and looking decidedly bewildered. "Oh my god…"

"Oh, I did," said Doom, and even without the expression the hum of pleasure in his voice was unmistakable, and Loki stiffened, readying his defenses, prepared for an attack. "And you've set it off."

Loki blinked once. The woman who had spoken staggered, clutching her head, and made a low, incoherent sound. His eyes caught red on her hands pressed to her face, deep and dark and the color of blood, in the moment before she crumpled.

He felt it like little bursts in his awareness of their briefly working minds as they died, crumpling even as they began to blink in surprise and no doubt alarm, blood pooling from eyes, ears, mouths, but there was no spell, no-

It took only seconds for he and Doom to be the only ones still standing in a room of crumpled corpses.

Over the years, on any number of battlefields or hunts or simply brawls that got out of control, he'd seen worse. For a time, he'd flinched from them and been mocked for his weak stomach, but even that he'd lost long ago. So the well of powerful disgust he felt rising in his chest caught him by surprise.

_What does it matter to you?_

_Nothing. It's a waste. A barbarous act and a waste. _Loki's fingers twitched at his sides. "If you wanted to be alone," he said, too quietly, "You might have said so."

"You are a skilled mage," said his opponent, still with that peculiar, mechanical inflection.

"The best," Loki answered, without false modesty.

"You are not here on your own behalf, I do not think," Doom said. "Whose leash is it, then, that you come here dancing upon, alone-"

Loki's temper flared bright and he lashed out with pure will in a slash of dense, focused anger, only to hit a shield of surprising power around Doom. Loki narrowed his eyes. _Well then. _

"You would claim power you have no right to," Loki said, coolly, infusing his voice with vicious disdain. "A mere mortal deserves none of the exalted strength that you would harness, like a child fishing for pike with string-"

"I have surpassed mere mortality by far!" his opponent boomed, and flung fire from his hand. Loki just managed not to grin. Ego. Almost too easy to exploit.

_(You would know.)_

Loki brushed the fireball aside with ease, carefully setting his trap even as he struck back at that shield again, testing it. "Pathetic," he said, summoning a patronizing smile. "You grasp for what you cannot hold. You have no notion, Victor, of what it is-"

"Do not think I have not heard of you," the metal man said, interrupting him. "My mind has reached beyond this world, and I have heard word of you. I thought we would meet face to face, but I admit I did not expect so soon."

Loki was brought up short, feeling for a moment as though he'd been slapped in the face. He forced a cough of a laugh quickly. "If you expect me to be impressed – or _flattered-_"

"I only regret," Doom said, "That I did not have more time to prepare your welcome." Something was prickling at his skin. Instincts, telling him that something was wrong, that he'd missed something-

He heard a mechanical whir behind him and wheeled, dashing to pieces a mechanical device emerging from the floor. It crumpled like an insect, some small debris shooting out from it and brushing his exposed hands-

_Pain. _Sudden and startling and absolute, his muscles suddenly beyond his own control and electric – electric –

_Like being struck by lightning, like Thor himself has come and called Mjolnir's power down on your wretched head-_

He still felt it, though, through the waves of pain beginning to subside, his muscles locking to another will and then another mind sliding through his thoughts, another will pressing down on his and trying to overcome him, subsume him, and then like fingers prying at a closed door or a trying to open a healed wound, the feeling from _inside _of him of his mind being forced open and he couldn't focus enough to stop-

"_Well," _he heard, both within and without his mind, _"Even more effective than proposed._"

The image flashed into Loki's fragmenting thoughts of his own eyes blank and empty, his own _mind-_

_No._

It was like heaving against quicksand, but he threw the scraps of power he could call together against that will (human, _mortal_) pressing down on his, welling rage burning the last of his immobility away. He visualized that stifling blanket becoming brittle as glass, summoned the rest of his power, and threw himself against it.

The spell shattered. Loki surged to his feet from where he'd fallen, and this time slammed physically into Doom, fingers wrapping around his throat and flinging him well away. His teeth were bared, and fury made his heart pound. "I might not have killed you," he said, voice thrumming. "Not anymore."

He lunged.

It had been some time since Loki had dueled another magic user. There were innumerable things to remember, precautions to take, time to weave the necessary, more complicated spells. Fighting a battle with magic required thought, tactics, strategy.

Loki cast all of that aside, using his magic like knives, alternated with true blades in his hands, a multiplicity of images all attacking at once, closing physically even as a barrage of mystical attacks kept Doom from striking back. Had he thought this would be difficult? Hardly, Doom might not be a true novice but he was not Loki, who had lived and breathed magic for longer than this mortal's progenitors had been alive. His blood sang, his heart raced, _he would see this man's blood spilled on the floor-_

His opponent, focused on the magical attacks Loki flung at his shields almost carelessly, realized a moment too late how close he was and turned to strike, but Loki grabbed his wrists and squeezed, metal groaning as it bent. Doom's magic lashed at Loki's fingers, but he hardly felt it sting.

"You should not," Loki snarled, into that metal mask, "have tried to overpower me in a battle of wills."

He could not see the man's eyes. Loki rather wished that he could. "You dare not kill me," Doom intoned. "I am the sovereign of a nation, you cannot-"

He had not been given permission. At the moment, Loki could not have cared. Not with his skin still crawling, still too aware of his thoughts, his _own _thoughts. "Do not tell me what I cannot," Loki interrupted. He bared his teeth, released the man's wrists, wrapped his fingers around Doom's head and _wrenched. _

It came off in a scream of metal and no stump of his neck was sparking circuitry, and the strange, oppressive feeling he'd felt since entering fell away almost at once. Loki let the automaton's head drop and stepped back with a snarl. "What is-"

"_Luke?" _Natasha, over his communicator. _"Ah, there you are, the interference just cut out – you're clear, I take it?"_

"Yes," Loki said, looking at the automaton that he had fought and killed. No. Not an automaton. He had felt the mind behind that magic and it had been no machine. "Doom-"

"_We've just got a call from Fury. He says Doom called ten minutes ago, asking for SHIELD intervention."_

Loki tensed. "He would claim – _intervention?_"

"_Yeah. He says _that_ one of his bots went rogue and he just escaped from where it was keeping him for the last three months." _Her voice was flat, and slightly heavy. Loki closed his eyes.

"He lies."

"_Obviously." _That was Barton. _"But Doom took all the right channels. The king of Symkaria's vouching for him. Calling him a liar will just set off a shit storm we can't afford."_

Loki gritted his teeth. The stone floor felt slick under his feet. Some detached part of him could almost respect the neatness of it. If all had gone as planned, doubtless Doom himself would have found some other explanation. As it was…

"His 'rogue' is dead," Loki said flatly, and began striding toward the doors. "Why don't you tell him that?"

"_Silver…" _That was Romanov, something odd in her voice. Loki destroyed the communicator with a somewhat petulant burst of magic, and thrust the great doors of the castle open with another burst of the same. The sun almost stung his eyes for a moment, and he tilted his head back, eyes closed.

Next time, he thought, it would be real flesh under his hands. For trying to do what he had done, sooner or later, Loki would see to that.

**Interlude (XIII)**

Loki eyed the door in front of him warily. 341, the number by the door informed him, and he checked that against his memory once more, to confirm, despite the fact that it had been Megan's voice buzzing him up.

This sort of thing, though…

He felt twitchy, anxious, and decidedly foolish about both emotions. It was a human movie, simple entertainment, and he was familiar enough with Megan. She was hardly a threat. The furthest thing from it, rather. He was hardly in need of her _approval, _and it was not as though this were any particular occasion, had he not managed much more onerous in Asgard with a smile to hand-

Foolishness.

He raised a hand that felt heavy at the end of his wrist and knocked. "Just a minute!" he heard through the door, and a moment later it popped open and Megan grinned at him. "What took you so long, missed the floor coming up the elevator?"

Loki blinked. "No."

Megan rolled her eyes in a gesture that had initially annoyed Loki but now he mostly ignored. "You're so _literal _sometimes. Okay, come in, come in. Want anything to drink?" She stepped back, holding the door open, and Loki walked stiffly through. "Hope you're impressed by the current state of cleanliness, I picked it up just for you…"

It still looked, to Loki, like a fine mess. He took her word for it, though, and summoned a smile. "Certainly."

Megan snorted, so perhaps he did not hide his expression quickly enough. "Just a _little _OCD," she said, to his mystification. "So…drink?" she gestured at the refrigerator. "I pulled out a few movies, if you want to take a look and see what looks good…"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," Loki said. "Just…water is sufficient."

Megan shook her head and mouthed something Loki didn't quite catch. "If you abdicate your choice we're just going to watch Ferris Bueller," she said, "and I don't know that that's really your scene."

Loki kept his eyebrows from twitching. "I'm sure whatever you find adequate will suit me as well."

"Yeah, okay," Megan said, jabbing a pointer finger at him as she filled a glass from the sink. "Challenge accepted. Just for that…"

There was a knock on the door. Both he and Megan turned to look at it in near unison, and Loki caught himself tensing.

"Aw, Jesus," Megan said, after a moment's pause where Loki had the sudden urge to grab Megan and remove them both from the building. "It's probably Carl wanting to use my phone cause he locked himself out again, just a minute." She set the glass down on the counter and walked over to the door. Loki relaxed, minutely, and then Megan opened the door, started, and said, "Who the hell are-"

The man who shouldered through the door grabbed her and put the barrel of what Loki knew by now as a gun to Megan's head. Two others followed him as he edged into Megan's apartment. "What the everloving _fuck,_" Megan didn't quite squeak.

"Come with us or I shoot your girlfriend in the head," said the man holding the weapon. Loki fell perfectly still, halfway through the motion of reaching to call his knives.

Apparently not deterrent enough. Anger started to throb at the back of his mind.

"I'm not his _– _oh, _fuck _this," Megan said, and pistoned her knee back. The man, apparently not expecting a struggle from his captive, doubled over, howling. Megan ducked away, and Loki completed the motion he'd frozen. Megan's attacker's howl cut off with a wet noise and he dropped like a sack of meat. The other two were already in motion, one raising a weapon to aim at Megan. It cracked once, sharply, and Megan screamed.

The anger boiled over into rage. Loki stretched out a hand and wrenched. The gun dropped from suddenly useless fingers, the man screaming as the bones through hand and wrist splintered under Loki's power.

The third man got off a shot that Loki felt as a punch to the shoulder, a brief pain and then ache, but not incapacitating, not nearly enough to keep him from bounding across the distance between them and slashing his belly to the spine with a long knife, sliding the blade between his ribs as he crumpled forward.

Loki moved out of the way of his fall, panting. His clothes would be ruined. They'd followed him here, known about Megan, assumed that they could attack him through threatening her, what did they think they were _dealing _with-

Megan. He'd heard her scream, and humans were so _very _fragile. He looked for her, suddenly, blinking the haze of fury back, and found her sitting by a wall with her legs awkwardly folded under her, her eyes very round and her breathing quick and loud. "Oh my god," he heard her say. "Oh my god-"

"Megan," he said, and took a step toward her. "It's all r-"

"Who the _fuck _are you?" she said, eyes focusing suddenly on him as she scrambled to her feet and backed away, looking as though she was about to fall. "Seriously, who the – you just _killed _them, you just _murdered _three guys in my apartment and you don't even look – you don't even look _surprised-_"

Loki blinked. "They would have killed you," he began, but she cut him off.

"Yeah, I know, and that's the thing, they would have killed me because they were after _you, _who _are _you, who are _they, _oh my god, I can't handle this right now, I can't-"

Loki took a cautious step toward her. She sounded as though she was about to come undone, fall apart, perhaps. "Megan," he said, lowly. "If you would allow me to-" Perhaps it would be best for her to forget this.

"Oh fuck no," Megan said, scrambling further back. "Stay away from me, you stay the _fuck _away from me –"

He saw her eyes flick toward the door a moment too late. She bolted for it. He could have caught her, probably. Though it was likely she would fight. Likely he would hurt her in doing so. "Megan," he said, trying to make his voice sharp, commanding. She paused at the door, eyes round, and wavered.

"—the police are going to get here any minute," she blurted, after a moment. "You probably…you probably don't want to be here th- what the _fuck _am I saying? Oh my god, oh my-" Loki could see her starting to shake. He gritted his teeth.

"Go," he said, infusing his voice with a touch of power. She went.

Loki looked at the bloody apartment, the smell of blood thick and familiar in his nose. _You're a fool. A complete and utter fool. _

He'd brought this here, Loki realized, and right on its heels, he couldn't stay. This would bring too much attention, too much scrutiny. He couldn't go back to the bookstore.

He had money saved. Enough to go elsewhere.

There were four slender volumes laid out on a table, now slightly spattered with blood. Loki moved sluggishly over to look at them, read the titles. _Ferris Bueller's Day Off. The Princess Bride. West Side Story. The Sixth Sense. _

Loki closed his eyes and took himself to his hotel room. _Did you think it would last? _

No. Of course not. Only one thing, one place, endured forever, and he'd left it behind.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: Ha. Let's not…talk about how long the interval has been, okay? I feel a little less bad given that a) I am coming rapidly to the end of what has been a very busy semester and b) the next chapter after this one (which I like to get written before I send the one I intend to post to my beta, keeps me honest) is almost 8000 words and pretty chunky in terms of plot._

_Not that that means I know where this is ending, hell no._

_I'm still ridiculously pleased that people are enjoying this! Thank you to all of you for your kind comments. If you wonder why I don't reply - it is honestly because I am the worst at responding to compliments. But I treasure everything you people say, I really do._

_Yet again: this wouldn't be possible without zaataronpita, because I would be second-guessing myself until I deleted the whole thing._

* * *

It was with his temper still simmering that Loki returned to SHIELD's base, calculating his appearance just in front of Coulson's desk. "I would like," he said, voice low and tight, "an explanation."

Coulson looked up at him, as untroubled as ever. "If you would clarify…"

Loki felt his lips peel back from his teeth and slammed his hands on the desk. "Don't _toy _with me." He could feel every muscle in his body almost vibrating, and if some of it was simply nervous energy leftover from the fight (from the feeling of someone else _in his mind_, overpowering his own will), he was nonetheless powerfully furious. With all of them. But this man in particular. "You've developed a means to track me. Were you planning to inform me of this?"

"It's a perfectly reasonable action to take," Coulson said, still calm. Loki felt a sudden flash of desire, almost _need _to see fear or something like it on that face, to-

He pushed it down. "If you believed that you would have told me before now. Don't think I don't realize – this isn't a measure for my safety. It's for yours." Coulson said nothing, not even an attempt at a denial. Loki felt his heart sink. "Which leads me to question – what _else _have you been seeking?" Loki heard his voice rise, and tried to moderate it with little success. "What other little means of control are you constructing, _just in case _I turn on you?"

"You're not wrong," said Coulson, after a long moment. Loki felt a wave of mingled rage and despair roar up within, but it did not quite drown out the added, "but hear me out." Loki said nothing, simply leveled his gaze on Coulson and waited. "Do you want to sit down?" The man proposed, politely.

"No." Loki took a step back from the desk, resisting the urge to pace. "Talk."

"Firstly, we take appropriate precautions for every one of our agents," Coulson said. "In case of any number of undesirable outcomes. Ours isn't a low risk field, and there's always a chance that something could go wrong. So we need to be able to track our assets. We thought you would object to being tagged like most of our agents, so we took a different route."

_Not unreasonable, _came the murmur at the back of his mind. Loki crushed it.

"Secondly," Coulson said, "You're wrong about one thing. This is in part a way for us to look out for you. The…factions that troubled you before will continue to ask questions. Some of them are sufficiently powerful to potentially be a threat. This ensures that we can protect you, if necessary."

Loki coughed a short bark of a laugh. "Protect me. I highly doubt that you could protect me from anything I could not manage myself."

"Be that as it may. Thirdly," Coulson said, and his eyes met Loki's levelly. "Yes. The fact of the matter is that we have to consider the possibility that your goals may not ultimately align with ours. And in that situation, we would need to know where to send the strike force. We're not unaware of the magnitude of the power you've got behind you, Silver. That kind of power from anyone tends to make us nervous. We have the same measures for agents who've been with us for years. Paranoia is our policy because it has to be. This isn't a threat." The man's posture was calm, relaxed, his eyes not stuttering even slightly from Loki's.

His right hand was angled slightly toward the middle drawer of his desk, where Loki knew he kept his weapons.

The rage oozed away, leaving behind a conspicuously empty void that sucked at him like a swamp. He regarded Coulson silently for a few moments. "How long have you known," Loki said finally, and let no emotion enter his voice.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," was the bland reply. Loki's jaw tightened and he just looked at him.

"About me," he said finally, harshly. His voice seemed to grate over his own throat.

"Some time," Coulson said, after a moment's pause. "Or, at least – the probability was too high to ignore."

Loki felt his lips curve in a brutal, humorless smile. "And you recruited me."

Coulson's eyes remained level. The hand near his drawer of weapons did not twitch. "SHIELD has no interest in creating new enemies. Our analysts judged that your antagonism was not directed at Earth and unlikely to recur. It seemed…advisable to allow you your subterfuge and not initiate hostilities."

_Reasonable, _Loki thought, dully. _You are not theirs. You are not human. They have not forgotten that you are a threat no matter how friendly they pretend to be-_

"I see," he said tonelessly. Coulson didn't move – like he expected movement to provoke attack, perhaps. "But of course you require securities." He thought of Chandra, Roslyn, the other technicians he'd spoken with and conversed with and come to know, and likely all the while they worked to find ways of hobbling him-

Had they already? The sick, foolish feeling of betrayal (as though he could have expected anything else) churned in his gut, and disappointment. _Romanov and Barton, were they, too, there to watch, to ensure my good behavior and…_

Coulson, he realized, was watching him carefully. Awaiting his response. _Brave, _Loki thought, vaguely, _to face me, knowing what I am, how easily I could obliterate him, and tell me to my face that they seek methods by which to control me._

"I am, if I have calculated correctly, a week away from my allotted time that I must remain here," Loki said, voice flat.

"I believe that's correct, yes."

"I would like to request," he said tonelessly, "that I be allowed to leave this place for a location of my own choosing. A home of my own, if you will. You may feel free to…monitor me in what way you see fit for the remaining time of my probation. Afterwards, call me for the purpose of missions and nothing else."

Loki waited, half expecting a condition, or an argument, a challenge. Coulson simply eyed him for a few moments, and then nodded. "I can negotiate that. Start putting the paperwork through."

"Good," said Loki. "I would appreciate it." He turned on his heel. "That is all."

"Silver," said Coulson. For a moment, Loki felt the powerful urge to insist _my name, my real name-_ He paused, said nothing. "You do good work," he said, after a moment. "To me – to most of us – that's what matters."

Loki didn't turn. Kept moving, and tried not to let that touch him.

~.~

He kept his distance from most of SHIELD for the next few days. They seemed inclined not to press him, for which Loki was grateful. He spent the majority of time in his room, which felt more cramped and claustrophobic by the day. He'd begun, he'd thought, to grow comfortable. Of course now, _of course-_

_Well, _the wry and faintly bitter thought occurred to him, _I needn't worry about Jane Foster, I suppose._ The thought was no comfort. His thoughts spiraled in circles, wondering how many of the technicians had been playacting with him, how many knew he was as much enemy as ally. He slept more poorly than he had for some time, dreams plagued by chains and cages where Odin looked down at him with disgust and hatred, and falling, always falling.

Foster's timing, then, was impeccable.

He opened the door to her brisk knock. She stood in the hallway, head tilted back, arms crossed, and her expression one of obstinate defiance. Loki felt the absurd urge to laugh.

"Well," she said, after a moment in which they stared at each other, "It doesn't look like you're busy. Let's talk."

_If they already know, _a voice murmured at the back of his head, _there's no reason you need to. Send her away. _Make _her leave. Why bother? _

"I am not," he said, evenly, "as it happens. Had you a destination in mind?"

"I didn't." Her eyes were fierce, like bores, and Loki found that he appreciated the lack of pretense. Her mistrust and dislike were obvious, and whatever strange quirk might be in his personal feelings on the matter, it was one thing that was not complicated.

"I can think of a conference room or two that might be suitable, if not the most homely," Loki said smoothly.

"I wasn't exactly looking for comfortable." She rubbed one eye, gaze breaking away from him, and he took the chance to force his shoulders down from where they'd been creeping upwards. He couldn't look tense – nervous – in front of her. "Fine, sure. After you."

He led, still half unsure why he was bothering to humor her, brushing that question aside. Boredom, whim – what did it matter? She couldn't make his situation worse.

Probably.

"Could you slow down just a _little?_" Foster said, her voice breaking into his thoughts, and Loki checked his stride, realizing that his pace had picked up. He slowed it again.

"My apologies."

"Wow," she didn't quite mutter. "If I'd thought you couldn't get grumpier."

"Were you expecting me to be pleased to see you?" He stepped into the elevator and designated his choice of floor. Foster hopped the last two steps to get in before the doors closed and stood on the opposite side of the small chamber. "I am terribly sorry to disappoint." His temper twanged a warning and he took a tighter hold on it.

"You did get snippier," Foster said, her eyes narrowing. "Is that just me or did something-"

"I daresay it is no business of yours. Or was part of the agreement that I answer all of your overly personal queries?"

Foster crossed her arms and almost seemed…stung. Loki couldn't quite fathom why and decided it wasn't worth pondering as the elevator dinged to a halt and the doors opened. He gestured to her, and if she hesitated for a moment she did exit before him. Loki wondered if she was confident in SHIELD's surveillance or confident that he wouldn't hurt her, and wasn't sure which option he disliked more.

(He could, of course. But Loki already knew that he wouldn't, even if he had no wish to examine why.)

He chose a conference room midway down the hall and held the door for her, slipped in after, and closed it quietly. He set the cameras to show an empty room, first – a trick he'd worked out early on – and then sat down, hands folded on the table. After a few seconds standing, Foster sat across from him.

Loki watched her, expression blank, and waited.

She didn't wait long. "What happened?" she asked, bluntly. Loki raised his eyebrows at her, keeping his expression cool.

"That question could cover a great deal of time, and I very much doubt you want a complete history."

The look she gave him was flat and irritated. "The Einstein-Rosen bridge – Bifrost, whatever – broke. How?"

He almost heard the awful sound of the hammer stroke falling. Of course that was her interest. He let a smile twist his lips. "Thor never met anything he didn't want to break."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that. That's not an answer."

Loki shrugged, made the motion loose and careless. "Is it not? Thor shattered it using Mjolnir."

Something flickered across her face, but if she was hurt it didn't show. Jane frowned. "How does that work?"

He could feel something winding tight inside him and distanced himself from it. "I couldn't say. Prior to his doing it I think most would have said it was impossible." But then, of course, set an impossible task before Thor and he found a way to force it to his will, or maybe that was just how the _world _worked, it bent itself around Thor to please him because the universe _itself _loved Thor so well-

Loki cut that thought off and forced his right hand, which had been clenching, to relax. Jane was scrutinizing him, expression opaque. He checked his own, ensured that his face was smooth of feeling as well.

"So this hasn't happened before," she said, after a moment.

"No."

She frowned, made a sort of "hm" noise. She chewed her lip, without, Loki thought, thinking about it, her gaze wandering off. It returned to him quickly, though. "Can it be fixed?"

_Ah. Of course. _"I have no idea," he said blandly. The look Jane gave him was flatly annoyed.

"You don't have a _guess?_"

"Hoping for the return of your dashing hero?"

"Don't even start," Jane said, her voice suddenly sharp. "I'm not going to put up with that." Loki gave her a thin, faintly acidic smile. She shook her head, then, and pushed back from the table. "What is your _problem?_"

_What, _Loki thought bitterly, _Thor didn't tell you of his degenerate, worthless, weakling younger brother? _"Is that a rhetorical question?" He asked, widening his eyes a hair. Jane's lips thinned and she looked for a moment as though she wanted to yell. She took a deep breath, though, and collected herself.

"I can't figure it," she said, after a moment. "When Thor talked about you – I mean, not by name, but I figure it must've been you - it was like you were the best damn guy he knew. He'd just say sometimes – stuff about how _smart _you were, how _clever _and _curious _and I don't…_get it._ How do you go from that to…"

His first reaction was, even now, _Thor spoke of me? _with surprised near-pleasure. He squashed that with all the savagery he could summon. "If it helps you," he said with deliberate coolness, "any destruction not Thor's was not my goal."

"Cause that makes it better," Jane said with a loudly derisive snort. "And anyway – that's what I mean. Why go after Thor? What'd he do that'd make you…" she trailed off. Loki felt his expression twist.

"What _could _he do?" He said, and heard his own voice bristle with too much naked feeling. "Perfect creature that he is, what could Thor _possibly _do to warrant my anger? _Unthinkable._"

Jane narrowed her eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth. I'm trying to understand."

Loki's smile stretched. "Trying to understand or trying to pass judgment?"

"Would you just-" the noise she made in her throat was thoroughly disgusted, and the baleful stare she cast him was full of frustration. "—knock it off. I just want to know what the hell _happened. _Like I said, you _made _it personal to me. So _talk._"

_No. _He didn't want to. Didn't want to go back, to consider, didn't want to think of any of this-

"You want to know?" His voice sounded strange, not his own. "It is not sufficient to know that Thor is your dashing hero and I his usurping brother?" Ah, that word. Slipped past his lips in a moment of inattentiveness and twisted like a knife in his breast.

"No," said Jane, her voice taut. "It isn't."

"Why not? Do you fear I will reveal some indiscretion of his, tarnish his image in your eyes, reveal some secret weakness – but then why believe what I would say? I could lie to you, every word, and you would never-"

"Can't I just want to _know?_" Jane interrupted, voice rising. "Can't I be curious about what the hell I got caught up in? Can't I want to know-"

It bubbled up in him like vomit. "Know what?" he said, and almost spat the words. "The sordid details of your lover's life? Or mine? You wish to know what brought me hurtling, fallen, to your world? You ask without knowing what you ask for, you want answers you have no way of understanding-"

"And you won't give me a chance to _try?_"

"Why should I?"

Foster threw up her hands. "I don't know! God forbid you maybe – I don't know, _want _to talk to someone who at least knows a little bit about your home-"

"_Asgard is not my home._"

The words came out in a rush of air, an expulsion like they'd been punched out of his chest, and his voice trembled with the force of them. Jane jerked back, her expression one of startled alarm, but he couldn't stop, _couldn't-_

"It never was. They _lied _to me, every breath, every word, and thought to expect me to accept my place with docile complacence and play the foil to golden, _perfect _Thor? But oh, if I should think to step out of that role, to seek some place beyond his shadow – _well._ What use is a puppet that will not dance on his master's strings?" It was rage, but not quite; something closer to despair and now that he'd loosed it he couldn't call it back. Could feel his hands shaking where his nails dug into his palms. "Do not think-"

The words strangled in his throat, too many things catching on each other and lodging so he almost choked on them. _Look at you, _murmured a voice at the back of his mind, _look, look at you, look how pathetic you are-_

Foster was staring at him as though he were mad. (Perhaps.) "What do you want from me?" he hissed.

"I told you," she said, after a brief silence. "I'm just trying to make sense of what happened."

Loki forced his hands to uncurl and took a long, slow breath through his nose. His insides felt like they were roiling, turning over and over within him. It wasn't fair, he thought viciously. It wasn't right that she could come here, to where he'd begun to carve out a life for himself no matter how small (a life that was hardly less a lie, and he cajoled into a cage by promises and bribes) and upset things so thoroughly, upset _him, _stir up everything he'd done so well at keeping back and away and always, always at a distance-

Jane Foster, small, mortal, powerless, helpless. And here he was, undone by a few simple questions. _Satisfy her curiosity and she'll go away. _

_What do you expect to gain from this?_

"You wish to know what happened?" His voice did not sound like his own, flat and expressionless. "Simple enough. I arranged for Thor to make an error that would prevent him from ascending fully as crown prince. I saw to it he was exiled-" _(that wasn't what you meant to have happen)_ "-and subsequently usurped the throne when the All-Father became – indisposed. I informed Thor that Odin was dead to keep him away, attacked him using the Destroyer to keep him away, and attempted to destroy another realm using your Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Thor prevented it. I fell." And that was all.

Everything that had changed, summed up in essence, devoid of excuse or embellishment or feeling. Naked and awful, he let it hang there, let himself look at it and remember again what a fool he'd been, what a _magnificent _dupe.

Foster looked like she wanted to fidget. Her eyes were narrowed, and Loki met them evenly, feeling suddenly drained. Too much, he thought. Doom and Foster and SHIELD and all of it-

"The Einstein-Rosen Bridge can be used as a weapon?" she said, finally, and Loki resisted the urge to stare at her, incredulous. _That's what you-_

"Yes," he said. "Quite effectively, it turns out, though I suppose not before I thought to use it as such." Destruction from beauty. Turning the artery that bound Asgard to the other realms to poison. The thought now made him want to laugh.

"It wasn't Earth, though," she said, after another moment. Loki coughed a laugh, startled.

"Hardly." She nodded, but her wary expression had shifted slightly, and she looked thoughtful, troubled. Loki supposed he could not be surprised by that. "Are you satisfied?" he asked, a sharp note sliding into his voice.

"Huh," Foster said, and then stood up. "No. I'm not. The – Bifrost. Whatever you call it. If you had to guess, can it be fixed?"

He hadn't considered it. Perhaps deliberately. "Yes," he said finally. And then Thor would come. Sooner or later, Thor would find his way back to Earth, and Loki would have to leave it, because he could _not…_ "But I could not say how long it may take."

Foster nodded. "That doesn't matter. I just needed to know it was possible." She turned as Loki sat up a little straighter, eyebrows pulling together.

"Why?"

She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes fierce. "So I can work on fixing it from this end," she said, and there was a fierce determination to her jaw that half made him want to smile.

"You don't have the means," Loki said, though he felt his eyes widen a hair. Hers narrowed.

"Watch me." She pressed her lips together, a moment, and then added, "You're not fooling anyone, you know. Or at least not me. You're a mess. Whatever you were trying to pull, it fell apart on you, and you still don't have your life together. I mean – you could've killed me, or made me forget knowing anything, or – any number of things, couldn't you? And you didn't." Her eyes narrowed.

Her words hit like a lance through his chest. He jerked back, felt his lips pull back from his teeth. Was it so obvious, was he such an open wound that anyone at all could look at him and see the wreckage of him strewn like grotesque petals-

"You would _dare-_"

"If you felt like coming around," she interrupted, "I've got a few projects you might find interesting." Her eyes were wary, but considering. She turned away. "If you felt like coming around. And you thought you could behave yourself."

Loki bristled. "I have no notion why I would wish to."

"I don't know, maybe-" Foster cut off, shook her head in a short and sharp jerk. "Never mind. I've got some new calculations to run." She started toward the door. Loki narrowed his eyes at her back, trying to puzzle out-

"Why," he said, suddenly. She turned around as she opened the door and looked at him.

"Because I'm a scientist," she said. "And I'm curious. And you know more about what I want to know than anyone else I'm ever going to meet. I don't like you. I don't trust you. But I don't think you're going to kill me and if you try – well, I'm armed with a taser." She paused. "And Roslyn likes you," Foster added, then turned back away. "I might even be able to say I've worked with people I've liked less."

Loki stared at her back, not sure what the feeling twisting under his breastbone was.

"Anyway," she went on. "Good afternoon, I guess."

She stepped out. Loki looked at the door that closed behind her, felt unsteady and strange and unquiet. And here he'd thought he'd known what to expect. Here he'd thought…

~.~

If he could say one thing for SHIELD, they were prompt.

Within a week of his conversation with Coulson, Loki had been loosed from his glorified confinement and furnished with the means to find his own living arrangements.

For his new home (for the moment, the cynical part of his mind supplied), Loki chose a relatively modest apartment in a city he had not lived in before, chosen relatively at random. San Francisco had sounded pleasant, and it was near the sea. Something of that appealed to him.

Looking out the window of his new lodging, Loki breathed out a quiet sigh and let his shoulders fall.

And if nothing else did, if everything suddenly seemed profoundly quiet and there was a part of him that was bitterly disappointed at what seemed like loss (though what had he had there, really) – well. Now he had a home of his own. That was better, was it not?

Better than being watched constantly, than knowing that he had been observed and played and manipulated as surely as he had ever done with anyone else, that he was to them little more than better a tool used than an enemy at large-

_Stop it. Don't become maudlin. It's not only unbecoming, it's-_

Someone knocked on his door.

Loki jerked, and turned sharply to stare at it. Curious neighbors? He hoped not. SHIELD agents come to try to take him back, having reconsidered the wisdom of letting him go? Or perhaps worse, perhaps Asgard had finally…

"It's me, Luke."

Hearing Romanov's voice took him by surprise. He stared at the door, for a moment the wild thought taking him that perhaps someone was imitating her – but he dismissed that with all the scorn such a notion deserved, and after a moment's pause, he padded over and opened the door, summoned a smile. (Did she know? He must assume…)

"I was not expecting visitors."

Romanov shrugged. "I was curious about your new quarters. May I come in?"

"I don't believe _I _gave you my address," Loki said, with the faintest of emphases.

"You didn't?"

"Not to mention it's a fair detour from your usual field."

Romanov smiled at him, almost brightly and anything but innocent. "I was on the coast."

Loki couldn't quite keep a smile from tugging at his lips. He evaluated the probability that she was there to spy on him, estimated it at fairly high, and decided to let her in anyway. He stepped back. "By all means." Natasha stepped in, her gaze sweeping across the largely empty interior of his apartment. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Looking a little…spare. And here I was going to offer to help move in."

"I travel light," Loki said. His voice sounded cool to his own ears, if cordial, but apparently it was enough for her to notice, judging by the swift sidelong look she gave him. She did not, however, comment.

"Fair enough."

"I see I haven't been invited to your home," Loki said, somewhat pointedly. Natasha cocked her head.

"You invited me?" she said, not holding back a slight smile, and Loki bit back the desire to laugh, and made a note to work out where Agent Romanov made her home.

"Fair enough," he echoed. Her smile flickered a little closer to a grin, and then she sprawled on one of the chairs he had procured. "Am I to offer you refreshment?"

"I'd appreciate it. Water's fine, though, before you get too fancy."

"I did not plan to offer anything else." Loki filled two glasses from the tap, sent the one floating over to Natasha suspended delicately by magic, and kept the other for himself. Natasha eyed the glass floating in front of her with something like discomfort or distaste.

"Was that really necessary?"

He gave her a sharp smile, aware of the strange humming tension under his skin but not certain how to dispel it. "I should not want you to forget anything important."

"Uh huh." Romanov took the glass and he released it. "Or else you're just showing off."

"I am not so averse to that, either."

Natasha stretched out, to all appearances perfectly relaxed in his chair. Loki was not about to take that for granted, but he crossed the room nonetheless to sit on another.

"Nice place, though," she said, after a moment of surveillance. "I guess decorating's something you can do with your downtime – though it's coming on summer, so I don't guess we'll have much of that." She grimaced. "Something about the season seems to bring out the worst in all the usual suspects."

"Much excitement to look forward to, I take it," Loki said, perhaps somewhat distractedly, and tensed at the scrutinizing look Romanov leveled at him.

"All right," Natasha said suddenly, setting her glass down. "What is it?" Loki smoothed his expression at once.

"Beg pardon?"

"You practically stormed out of Latveria without a word. You moved out of headquarters ahead of schedule. And everything about your body language right now is practically screaming 'not happy' – at least to me." Her gaze on him was even and sure. Loki wanted to twitch under it. _Again, _he thought viciously, _again, are you so _desperate _to be seen that you would disregard any sense of shame-_

For a moment, the urge rose in him to speak to her, to tell her what had happened _(as though she doesn't know already) _and seek some kind of – what, reassurance? Comfort? _Don't be a fool. _Whatever she was, Romanov was not his confidant.

Loki swallowed back the urge, found a thin smile. "It has been a…trying few days."

"Uh huh." Natasha looked at him for a long moment, and then exhaled quietly and shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"I usually do," Loki said, his voice deliberately casual, even knowing it would make no difference. He'd already given himself away. _So try harder. _Now, more than ever, he could not afford to be weak.

"There was – actually - another reason I came over," she said, after a few moments of silence. He glanced at her through half closed eyes and found her regarding him in much the same way.

"You did not simply yearn for my company?"

The look she gave him in response to that was distinctly cool. "Stark's been pestering me for your number."

"He's been – what?"

Natasha made a face. "Well, he was _there _for the incident with the senator, and I know for a fact that he can hack into SHIELD's database if he wants to. Apparently you got his attention, somehow or other. He wants to meet, talk, something – Coulson's been ignoring him. Apparently he thought he might have more luck with me."

"Will he?" Loki asked, perhaps a little too mildly. Natasha looked almost affronted.

"No. It was fair warning – Stark usually finds a way of getting what he wants. Unfortunately." Her slight smile was rueful. Loki stretched.

"I think I can manage myself."

"I don't doubt it," Natasha said, and stretched her legs out straight before folding them up under her. "Just don't kill him, we'd have a hell of a time covering that up. Do you have a chess set here yet?"

It took him a bare moment to realize that she was probably jesting, and not actually thinking that he intended to kill Stark. "Not just yet," Loki said.

"Good thing I brought my portable one. I guess you haven't been practicing, then?" Natasha started fishing through the small black bag she'd brought with her.

"I've been using an electronic one," Loki said. "I've started winning a fair margin of my games."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "On easy?"

"Don't be insulting."

She produced a small black case and slapped it on the table. "All right then," she said, "let's see how you do against a _real _opponent." She caught his eye for just a moment, and Loki could see the understanding there. She might know all was not well, but she would let it go.

He felt a wash of warm gratefulness that caught him by surprise. A small thing, perhaps. But for all that…perhaps so much the more valuable.

"Done," he said, leaning forward with a grin that was, if not entirely genuine, perhaps more than usual. "I shall repay you for my prior humiliation yet."

"Uh huh," she said, planting her hands on her knees. "Sure you will. White or black?"

**Interlude (XIV)**

He fled across one of the oceans, choosing a location mostly at random and hoping it was far enough.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth that he tried to ignore, his thoughts flickering continuously back to Megan, to the bookstore, to the companionable feeling he'd almost been able to enjoy. _Is this how it's always going to be? _he wondered, settling into a new hotel room in a new city. _Running from place to place, just ahead of those who would catch you and use you and…_

Loki pushed the question brutally away. This time, he told himself, he would do better. Refrain from dangerous attachment. Work harder to stay out of notice of those who might think he could be a tool for their purposes. A simple enough prescription to manage.

(Sooner or later, they'll find you again.)

His first night in his new room, he dreamed of Thor. The two of them were walking together in a snowstorm, ice crunching under their feet. Jotunheim, Loki thought, and the hair on the back of his neck seemed to prickle.

_We'll be attacked, _he thought suddenly, wildly, and knew in the next moment that they wouldn't be. The jotnar were dead. He'd killed them all. It hadn't been so hard.

"Why won't you come home?" Thor asked, tone plaintive. "You don't belong here."

"And I do there?" Loki heard himself ask.

"Of course you do." He sounded like he believed it. So very convincing, as only Thor could be.

"Look at me," Loki said, and Thor turned. He could see himself in sky-blue eyes, in that hateful skin, baleful red eyes gleaming. "Look at me, and say the same."

"You cannot frighten me with illusion," Thor said, and reached out, grasped Loki's arm. His touch burned like fire, searing, and Thor pulled back sharply, staring at his hand, fingers turning black, flesh rotting just from that touch. He looked from his hand to Loki and back again.

"You shouldn't have touched me," Loki said, strangely toneless.

"I don't understand," he said, eyes widening as the black crept up his arm and Loki stared at it dumbly, rooted to the ground, his arm throbbing from the heat of that touch. "What have you done with my brother?"

"I never was," Loki heard himself say, and the voice didn't sound like his own, sounded like _Laufey's_ with that strange and hideous resonance and there was a spear of ice in his right hand, and only the slightest resistance as he thrust it into Thor's gut, never letting his gaze stray from Thor's.

He woke up shivering, his arm still seeming to ache where Thor had touched it in his dream, and did not go back to sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Notes: Well, I made it in under a month. That's what happens when you are eaten by final papers, I suppose. But now I am free! and have far too much time on my hands, which hopefully means updates will become more regular, though one never really knows. I feel a little less bad about the time it took to get this chapter up, given that it is the longest yet. And has, like, plot. Or almost plot. Something vaguely resembling plot?_

_At any rate, here it is, with thanks as always to zaataronpita, who takes the pile of words I send her and hammers it into something workable. Couldn't make this happen without her._

* * *

"Good news," Fury said, as he pushed the folder across his desk. "You get to work with Stark."

Loki blinked. His already fairly poor mood slid a little further downhill. "Beg pardon?"

"Special request," said Fury, and fortunately Loki found nothing but disgruntlement and annoyance in his expression. "You've got a fan."

"I was under the impression," Loki said carefully, picking up the folder and examining it with some distaste, "that Stark and SHIELD were not on the best of terms."

"There's a mole in his company leaking tech to A.I.M.," Fury said, somewhat sourly. "Specifically weapons tech. I told him either he takes one of ours to help plug the leak or I shut him down as a threat to national security."

Loki thought of Natasha's words – _he usually finds a way of getting what he wants. _Apparently so. It did not, however, sound like difficult work, and he'd only found the man faintly irritating at their first meeting. That he'd been _requested, _though…

That left a trace of wariness prickling on his spine. "I see," he said, though, coolly enough. "So I am to assist Stark in tracing this…leak. Anything else?"

"You can read the file." Fury sounded more annoyed than usual, he thought. If that was Stark's doing…perhaps he could summon a little bit of charitable feeling after all. Loki examined him, coolly.

"So where am I to meet Mr. Stark?"

"Right here, actually," said a jaunty voice from the doorway, and Loki fought down the first reflex to wheel and strike, his hands digging into the arms of the chair. "Silver – it is Silver, right? Good to see you again."

"Likewise," Loki said, flatly, and took a deep breath through his nose before standing and turning to sketch a very slight bow. "Stark."

"Wow," Stark said, to Fury. "A bow, really? Where'd you find him, Fury, medieval England? Though I guess the hair is more glam rock, really, if I had to pick an-"

"This office was locked," Fury said. "That generally indicates a private conversation, Stark."

"No one's going to call me Tony? I thought we were on first name basis." Stark smiled brightly. "Yeah, well, spy headquarters, I figured I'd get into the spirit of the thing…"

"If you wouldn't mind giving me a few minutes to brief my agent without the benefit of your commentary," Fury said flatly, "I'd appreciate it."

"Let me," Stark said, and then to Loki, "He's going to tell you to keep an eye on me and see if you can get hands on any of my weapons or designs or plans or basically anything. The answer is no, you can't. And if I find out SHIELD's been fucking around with any of my tech…" His expression sobered. "Well. Won't be happy, I can tell you that. There'll probably be a lawsuit. And then I'll come in here in _the_ suit and take it all back anyway, so…"

Loki kept his face immobile. "That seems clear enough," he said, and glanced to Fury, eyebrows arched. "Any objections?"

A muscle in Fury's jaw twitched. "We'll talk later, Stark," he said. "And you-" He paused, and then simply barked, "Out!"

"At your bidding," Loki said smoothly, and turned toward the door. He could feel Stark looking back and forth between them, and pretended not to notice.

"What he said," Stark said after a moment, and fell in step with him as they exited the office. Loki started down the hallway, opening his stride. "So," Stark said, walking along next to him, "You're SHIELD's shiny new secret weapon, seems like. Well, anyway, Natasha's been not-talking about you pretty hard." Loki's step didn't quite catch. _Weapon. Tool. What's the difference? _(One, at least, I chose.)

"Mmm," Loki said, tucking the folder securely under his arm. "Is that what I am?"

"Looks like. See, at first I was pretty sure you were just standard issue, window dressing for Tasha, but that kind of weird's not exactly Tasha's _thing, _so I did a little poking around, and…wow. Judging by the number of blanks in your file, someone's trying to keep a fair number of things off record."

The corners of Loki's mouth turned down slightly. "Am I a puzzle for you to solve, then?"

"Nope," said Stark, and then just as quickly, "Maybe a little bit. I mean, I figure if I have to deal with Fury shoving spies down my throat I might as well get to self serve a little, and Natasha's busy, so…"

Loki breathed out through his nose. His brief moment of – not affection – for Stark brought on by his prodding at Fury faded quickly. He lengthened his stride. "I live to entertain."

"Where's the fire?" He heard after him. "Wait, did I piss you off already? That's got to be a new re- Hey, hold up, where're you-"

Loki turned. "I have some things to collect before I join you – Southern California, isn't it? Unless you had further words you felt it necessary to have with me."

Stark examined him, closely. "Are you usually this prickly or am I just lucky? I mean, I guess I have that effect on people, but…have we been introduced? I mean, officially, not as Natasha's arm candy-"

"You asked to work with me," Loki said coolly. "And you just admitted to having done your…research on me. I hardly see what remains."

"You're a barrel of laughs, aren't you. Here, want me to start? Tony Stark, smartest man in the US – and the world according to some lists, depends on who you ask, I'm an Aries and I'm not a particular fan of long walks on the beach. Now you go." Stark's expression was expectant, almost childishly so, but Loki could see the sharpness in his eyes, and the faint prickle of wariness intensified. Stark wanted something with him, that much was clear. What, though, was not.

A thought burst into his mind, reckless and absurd, but he brushed it aside in the next moment. "You can hardly think that I'm inclined to offer you personal information."

"Figured it was worth a try." Stark shrugged. "I figure you'll warm up to me. Irresistible charisma, all that."

"I'm sure you would think so," Loki murmured, coolly. "But if you would excuse me…"

"Excuse you to where? I figured I'd give you a ride. Time to talk, it'll be great. Not that much time, though, benefits of traveling with me – unless you like airplanes, I guess-"

"As I said, I have things to retrieve first," Loki interrupted. "Things which are in my apartment." Stark's eyebrows quirked slightly.

"Right, there's a jet. Fly there, fly to So Cal, it's all very high tech and new fangled-"

Loki smiled thinly. "I have a faster means of travel."

Stark looked taken aback, and then faintly disgruntled, and then reluctantly intrigued. The man, Loki thought, wore his emotions on his face, naked for anyone to see. It was almost absurd. "There's nothing faster on the market than my tech."

"There is for me." Loki smiled, suddenly. "Take your jet. I shall meet you in New York. Your offices have not moved recently, have they?"

"No," Stark said, starting to frown. "Wait, what are you going to-"

"Then I shall see you shortly," he said, and departed in a twist of magic. Let Stark make of that what he would. And let him find further challenges to his intellect. It would not do, after all, to let him get bored.

~.~

Loki read the file he'd been given while he packed. He didn't have to get far to see how Fury might well like to have some of the work Stark had done in his hands. Even if he had ostensibly left the weapons business– a matter Loki reserved some doubts on - it was easy to see how his work could be applied to great effect in war. Increased efficiency of killing with little risk.

Humans, Loki thought, seemed to appreciate that sort of thing more than the Aesir.

Of course, he beat Stark easily. There was some kind of protection on the house, but it was simple enough to interrupt sufficiently to allow him to slip in without notice, and he had plenty of time to set himself sitting ankle-crossed-over-knee on a couch and to don an appropriately bored expression. He summoned his current book – a study on human psychology – to complete the picture.

Stark stopped on the threshold of the room when he did arrive. Loki smiled pleasantly at him. "Show off," Stark said, his expression only slightly disgruntled. "Did you really just _beam me up, Scotty _your way over here?"

"If that was intended to be comprehensible," Loki said, voice mild. Stark blinked, and then looked speculative.

"Star Trek reference. You don't know Star Trek references? Seriously, _did _Fury find you in medieval Europe?"

Loki did not let himself stiffen. "I lead a life of bitter ignorance," he said easily.

"Apparently so." Stark shook his head with an air of sage disappointment. "That's just sad. But seriously – not that a tragic lack of Star Trek knowledge isn't serious – I gotta ask. How did you _do _that?"

"I am quite certain," Loki remarked, a little too mildly, "that an explanation would be lost on you." Stark flapped a dismissive hand.

"Doubt it. If it works, it works because of scientific principles, you're just using them in a different way. Everything in the universe has to follow the rules. That's just how it is."

"Such a proposition relies on your _knowing _those rules accurately and completely." Stark's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward.

"Okay then, try me. I'm full of surprises."

Loki examined him for a moment, almost annoyed at his presumption. "Very well," he said, abruptly. "It is simple enough. A matter of will. A weaving out of one place and simultaneously into another. I bring the two points involved together, and my magic forms a – you may think of it as a needle. I am drawn with it, like thread, from one side to another."

Stark stared at him. Blankly. "That's insane," he said, finally. Loki smiled at him.

"And yet it works."

"But how do you-" Tony's hands made a strange gesture whose meaning Loki did not think he could divine. "How does it _work?_"

"I told you."

"Mathematically, though, how does it- you know what, never mind. I'm going to ask someone else." This time the look was slightly wary. "Someone whose brain works like a normal person's."

Loki smiled thinly and tapped his fingers against his leg. "I did warn you."

"Yeah, okay, you can gloat about it when your science metaphors don't include sewing imagery." Stark looked sorely put out. It was probably slightly petty of Loki to feel pleasure at that, but he did nonetheless. "Well, that just proves it. You're a whole new brand of weird, aren't you."

His already cool feelings toward Stark slid a little further toward dislike. "I don't find it so. But I am hardly here to respond to questions you're not prepared to hear the answers to, am I?"

"As far as I'm concerned that's what you're here for." Stark's smile was wide and glib, but Tony watched his eyes, and caught a glint of wariness there again. "Like I told Fury, I don't need help, and I don't want it from SHIELD."

Loki's mouth turned up at one corner, though the expression felt bitter even to him. "What makes you so sure my loyalty is to them?" Tony's eyes narrowed. "I have very little interest in your technology, and less in attempting to steal it for Fury's use."

"Huh." Tony's arms crossed. "What do you have an interest in, then?"

"I daresay that is as much my concern as my personal information. Suffice to say that if I am to be here, I would fain be idle."

"Anyone ever told you that you talk like a Tolkien novel?" Stark said, and then waved a hand. "Never mind – you're really into the whole mystery thing, aren't you? You wouldn't be into twenty questions, would you? Yeah, guessing not." Stark eyed him again. "You're not enthused about SHIELD, why're you working there?"

"They hired me," Loki said simply.

"You thought about freelancing? That teleporting thing or whatever it is, you'd make a killing in the taxi business."

Loki gave him a flat stare. "I can also see to it you are deposited in another dimension that I guarantee you would find severely unpleasant." Stark held up both his hands quickly.

"Okay, okay, point taken. All business. Right." A pause. "Although…"

"Stark."

"What does SHIELD do to its agents, suck the humor out of them?" Loki waited until Stark rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Take that as a yes. Okay, okay, so you want to help, and you're just going to _pinky promise _not to go sneaking around behind my back stealing my stuff."

"And if I may be so bold as to say that I am likely a great deal more capable than you are, in any number of ways. So. Your technology is being stolen."

Stark eyed him. Loki kept his expression bland, and finally Stark nodded. "Something like that. Some nasty people I don't like very much are ending up with tech that's not even on market yet, anyway."

"So you have a traitor within your ranks."

"That's not the problem. I can work out who's doing that without much trouble." Stark's eyes narrowed, slightly, but this time not truly in Loki's direction. "It's who they're selling to that I'm…_curious_ about."

Loki arched his eyebrows. "I'd assumed you knew, if the technology in question was reappearing elsewhere."

"It is," Stark said. "But so far just in scattered places, random asshats. There's a lot of more dangerous places it could be going. And I'm not sure it isn't." Stark's eyes snapped back to him. "But that still doesn't mean I need your help."

"_You _requested me, Stark."

"I figured if I was going to be saddled with a SHIELD watchdog it might as well be an interesting one." Stark's grin was so intent on charming that it wasn't. Loki let his eyebrows arch in the purest expression of disdain.

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"Disappoint?" Loki did not trust that expression at all. "Who said you were disappointing anyone? I don't feel disappointed yet." Stark rubbed his hands together. "Anyway. You can sleep – you sleep, right? – in the guest bedroom, down the hall, on the right, up some stairs. Work for you?"

"I suppose it will have to," Loki said, keeping his expression ruthlessly blank. "But as for the matter of your stolen-"

"One track mind, huh?" Stark interrupted. "We'll get to it, Jack Skellington. Are you naturally that pale or-"

"Mr. Stark?"

Loki's head snapped up at the faintly accented voice, halfway through reaching mentally for his knives before he noticed that Stark was watching him looking like he was trying not to grin. "Oh, right," he said, casually. "If you need anything – go ahead and ask JARVIS. He's my A.I. Also butler and security system – which come to think of it, how did you – never mind. JARVIS, the jumpy fellow is Agent Luke Silver of SHIELD. Say hello."

"Greetings, Agent Silver," said the voice from the ceiling. Loki felt his hands twitch at his sides.

"A pleasure," he said, almost biting off the ends of the words. "I'm sure." Stark was still watching him, not quite smirking, in a way that made Loki's skin prickle, but he reigned in the urge to snap.

"Was there a message?" the man asked, after a moment, foot tapping a few times.

"Ms. Potts has arrived in the lobby, and I note that it appears you missed a board meeting that took place roughly two hours ago."

"How about that." Stark winced. "Oof. Okay, I've gotta go get that – actually. You should probably meet Pepper or else she'll probably spray you with mace the first time she runs into you – not actually – well, maybe? Anyway." He turned toward the elevators with the clear expectation of being followed. "So, lobby."

After a moment wherein Loki considered simply teleporting himself, primarily to irritate Stark, he determined that that was childish and padded after the man. The elevator whirred quietly down with very little sound, and the doors opened on a broad open space and a red-haired woman standing with her arms crossed.

"Board meeting slipped your mind?" she said, distinctly coolly. Married? No, Loki thought. Stark did not quite look sheepish as he stepped out and strolled over to her. He hung back to watch.

"Would I get any points if I said no?"

"No."

"Harsh." Stark adopted an expression of such obviously false contrition that Loki wondered why he bothered. "I'm very, very sorry, Ms. Potts. I take my responsibilities as something or other of Stark Industries _incredibly _seriously and it will not happen again."

"This week," the woman said, a little tartly, and shook her head with a sigh. "What were you doing this- who is that?"

Loki let his mouth curve and inclined his head in her direction. Virginia Potts. His reading had suggested that she was the real architect of most of Stark's business, and he was not seeing anything yet to contradict that view. As for their relationship…

"Oh, that," Stark said, glancing at Loki. "He followed me home, not planning to keep him. Present from SHIELD, I tried to tell them my birthday's in April and I wanted a pony anyway-"

"_Tony,_" said Potts, not quite sharply, and took a step forward, a patently polite smile fitting comfortably onto her features. "We appreciate your help in getting this sorted out. I don't think I've met…"

Loki gave her a smile, deliberately disarming, and took a step forward. "You would not have. Your welcome is appreciated. I hope I shall not be too much of a disruption to your work – you must be Ms. Virginia Potts, is that so?"

She disguised her pleasure fairly well, but her polite smile became a little more genuine as she offered her hand. "Yes, I am. And you are?"

"Luke Silver. It is a pleasure to meet you, Virginia. If I may be so bold to call you by your first name." He caught her hand and bowed gracefully (and perhaps slightly excessively) over it. The slightly disgruntled look on Stark's face was decidedly pleasing.

Ms. Potts retrieved her hand, looking somewhere between confused and flustered. "I – probably not. No one calls me Virginia anyway. But – as for disruptions…well, hopefully this won't take too long to sort out."

"I'm sure it shall not," Loki said smoothly. "And if there is anything I might assist with…"

"No," said Potts, a little more firmly. "No, thank you, I think I'll be fine." She cast Stark a look whose significance Loki could not quite divine. "Now, if you would both excuse me, I've got some paperwork I need to see to, so…"

"You love paperwork more than me," Stark said, mock-mournfully.

"Probably," Potts agreed. "Tony…we'll talk later."

They both watched her departure. Stark turned to him almost as soon as she was gone, looking distinctly annoyed. "Petty, my friend," he said. "Very petty."

Loki gave him a guileless smile. "My apologies. Have I trespassed somewhere?" Tony just looked at him. "So, then," Loki said almost brightly, as though he were unaware of it, "there is work to be done, I presume?"

Stark shrugged. "Not really. I _am _getting a little hungry, though. Are you hungry? I'm thinking Chinese."

"I'd prefer Vietnamese."

"Now you're just being contradictory."

"I would never," Loki said, perfectly deadpan. Stark's mouth twitched very slightly.

"Okay," he drawled. "So there is a sense of humor in there somewhere, along with the bitchy teenage girl?" Loki flashed a smile at him with just a few too many teeth.

"I suppose that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

~.~

Dinner with Stark was…mildly diverting. He asked probing questions that Loki avoided without much difficulty. Stark tested him on embarrassingly basic mathematics, and attempted to argue that there was no such thing as magic, for which Loki chose to switch his fork for a small, virulently green snake.

To Loki's slight surprise, Stark seemed to take that in relatively good humor.

He slept almost soundly – a product, perhaps, of the luxurious quarters and extremely luxurious bed – and woke to the accented voice of the JARVIS machine, to his own surprise without summoning his knives.

"Mr. Stark would like to inform you that there are waffles in the microwave, and that he is in his workshop this morning and not to be disturbed."

Something about the disembodied voice made him distinctly uneasy, for all the warmth in its falsely mortal voice. A.I was artificial intelligence – he'd looked it up – and Loki was reminded forcibly of the Doombot in a way that made his skin prickle. He didn't know how much of the attacks had been the machine, after all, and how much the mind behind it.

The whole concept seemed like an abomination to him. If he considered, though, it was probably not so different from his own simulacra, set up to act a certain way on their own without instruction. Nonetheless.

"Waffles," he said, finally, kicking the covers off and unfolding from the bed. "Frozen, I presume?"

"Indeed."

Loki sighed, only a little. Stark did not seem the type to know much of cookery. Summoning his fleece robe and wrapping himself in it with a flick of his hand, he headed for the door. "Inform Stark that his thoughtful generosity is noted," Loki said easily, tying the sash around his waist. "Is there a kitchen I might use to prepare my own meal?"

"Probably wise, sir. The main floor kitchenette should serve your purposes." Loki didn't quite keep his mouth from twitching.

"So you have a sense of humor, machine."

"A flaw in my programming." A _droll _sense of humor. Whether or not it made his spine prickle, at least he could appreciate that.

He descended to the kitchenette indicated, and began looking through the items Stark had on hand, which were woefully few and disappointingly simple fare. He managed to scrape together enough, however, to make some batter of his own, unearthed a proper waffle iron from one of the cabinets, and felt a small sense of triumph as he forked one properly homemade onto his plate and started another.

The smell caught him, for a moment. He'd known how to make something similar – before, but it was Ms. Fairfax who had given him this particular recipe. It had been her welcome breakfast, he remembered – something, in retrospect, that might have been no tradition at all but brought on rather more by his state at the time.

He missed her, suddenly and powerfully so it almost ached. _Call her, _a small murmur at the back of his thoughts encouraged, but almost on its heels _she's probably forgotten you already. _

Distracted, he took a deep breath, smelled something burning, and swore loudly. He unplugged the iron with a jerk and stared balefully down at the slightly blackened second waffle, displeased with it and himself.

"Tony, what did you set on fire this- oh." He turned, feeling obscurely like a guilty child caught in some misbehavior. Ms. Potts blinked at him, but he recovered first.

"My apologies. I became distracted and thus…" he gestured. "I shall see to the mess."

"No, it's fine," she said quickly. "Don't worry about it. Just…a surprise. –we have a waffle iron?"

_We, _he noted. "Apparently so," he said, with a very slight smile.

"Huh." Potts frowned at the device, and then shook herself. "—that's a surprise."

"Judging by the lack of materials," Loki murmured, slightly wryly, "I suspect many of these appliances haven't seen much use. Do I hit near the mark?"

She smiled, a little, and didn't quite laugh, though he thought for a moment she wanted to. "Tony – Mr. Stark is very busy," she said diplomatically. Loki swallowed the slightly dubious _is that so. _

"I'm sure," he said mildly, and turned to begin scraping the slightly burnt waffle out of the iron. "Chiefly this morning, it would seem, in avoiding me."

"In av- ah." He caught just a snatch of a slightly peeved expression before it was brushed away with pure professionalism. "I'm sorry."

Loki waved a hand loosely. "No matter. I daresay he shall find it harder to do so than he would prefer." He smiled at her, deliberately guileless. "Besides, it affords me the opportunity to speak with you briefly, if you wouldn't mind."

Her expression went just slightly wary. "About business."

"Indeed." He indicated the batter. "Waffle?"

"No, thanks." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What kind of things are you wanting to ask me?"

"I hope to get a better grip on the…situation. Just a few brief questions, I promise you. If you'd like to sit…" he gestured expansively as he picked up his plate. "And if you harbor the same concerns as Stark – I swear to having no interest whatsoever in pocketing his technology for SHIELD."

She sat, after a moment. "I don't know how helpful I can be."

"I'm sure you'll be fine. As I said…I'm just trying to get a sense for things." He set down his plate at the table and sat down. "How did you first notice anything peculiar?"

She hesitated, but only the barest moment. Potts might not trust him, but she was at least willing to cooperate. Loki filed that away. "Some accounting errors. Things not adding up the way they should have been. It was a pretty small margin, but…when I started looking into it, it got clear pretty quick."

"And the stolen material – has it surfaced on the market yet?"

"Well – that's the weird thing," she said, more promptly. "Some of it has, the smaller stuff turned up with some low level HYDRA-related groups in Europe, but not much, and none of the really serious…" She shook her head.

"So someone's holding onto it. Why?" Loki tipped his head back. "In my experience, thieves tend to want to get rid of the stolen property as soon as they can."

Potts frowned. "That's the question, isn't it? What are they waiting for? Either someone's stockpiling for some reason, or they're not planning to use it at all."

He raised his eyebrows. "Beg pardon? I should think that would be…ideal."

She examined him, for a long moment. He could see her hovering on the edge, trying to decide how much she could say. Eyes narrowing, Loki wove the subtlest of spells, _trust me. Go on. _

He felt, just for a moment, a twinge of uncertainty in doing so. _It's not the same, _he told himself harshly. Potts shifted slightly as he let the threads go. "Tell me," he said, with just a touch of power, and she sighed.

"I suppose…it's not likely, but someone...he's been telling people that Stark Industries is not manufacturing weaponry – and it's true, Stark Industries is not. But – he is, a few things, and if any of it gets out, or gets in the wrong hands…not only would it be a publicity nightmare, Tony might have no choice but to bow to either SHIELD or the military or-" She blinked, frowned. "Why am I telling you this?"

Oh. Wasn't that interesting. Loki gave her a small smile. "I'm told I am a good listener. So it has occurred to you, Ms. Potts, that this might be sabotage first and foremost, rather than theft?"

"Occurred to me? Yes, I suppose that's what I'm saying, but…" she frowned. "As I said, it doesn't seem likely. Who would benefit?"

"And that's the question, isn't it," Loki murmured, more to himself than anything, and then sat back. "My apologies, Ms. Potts. I think I've kept you quite long enough."

She hesitated, not rising immediately. "Do you think that's what's going on?" she asked bluntly, brows furrowed. "Sabotage? That someone's trying to corner Tony into…wouldn't SHIELD be a pretty good guess, in that case, for who's behind it?"

"Indeed," Loki said. "It is a possibility." He shook himself, and gave Potts a slender smile. "But that seems a little bit – improbable, does it not?"

"Maybe." Potts looked less sure, and her eyes on him had a slightly new wariness. _Was _that it? Loki wondered. He would not have been wholly surprised. But they must know that if he caught them at such a thing, he would see the leverage in it at once, and he doubted they trusted his loyalty that much. "Well. I hope I was helpful." She stood, smoothing her skirt.

"Quite," Loki said, inclining his head. "A pleasant morning to you, I hope."

She paused, once more. "Do you want me to get Tony out of his workshop?"

"No," he assured her. "I think I shall manage," and watched her depart with the faint click of her heels against tile. He finished his waffles at a leisurely pace, thinking. There was something peculiar, something that he felt certain was right in front of his face, but…well. He would look for it later.

He mopped up a last few drops of syrup with one finger and licked it pensively away. Which left him with Stark. Somewhere in his tower, ignoring him.

Loki had never taken well to being ignored, whatever the circumstances, and however pleasant the accommodations, he wanted this assignment done with. And that required Stark's cooperation. So he would have to obtain it.

"JARVIS," Loki murmured, after a few minutes of silent thinking, "are you going to tell me where Stark is working, or do I have to guess?"

"I'm afraid you don't have the clearance necessary for me to give you that information, sir," the voice said, and did indeed sound almost regretful.

"Ah, well." Loki tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Then it's a matter of acquiring that clearance, isn't it?" Artificial Intelligence. How much like a mind was it, he wondered?

"That would need to be obtained from Mr. Stark, Agent Silver."

Loki let himself smile. "Well. We'll just have to see about that, won't we?"

~.~

It was more difficult than he expected it to be, wrangling the machine into giving him the information he needed. But he did get it. From there it was easy to wander down to the floor indicated, locate the appropriate room, enter the appropriate code, and step inside.

Stark was standing before a bench cluttered with tools and metal, working on something Loki couldn't quite make out and bobbing his head up and down in rhythm with the music Loki could hear coming tinnily from his headphones. It seemed…cluttered, for a workplace, but Loki supposed the room where he did (_had done) _most of his work had its own apparent mess of books.

Books, he thought suddenly, he wouldn't see again, probably ever. He wondered if they had been burned as the belongings of a traitor, or simply placed into the libraries, there to disappear.

He severed the thought like a poisonous vine, and strolled over on quiet feet to stand just behind Stark's shoulder, peering over it with curiosity, trying to make out what he was fiddling with.

"What are you doing?" he asked mildly, and Stark jumped and whirled around, nearly smashing the metal tool he was holding into Loki's face.

"Jesus fucking – what was _that?_"

"You ought to pay more attention to your surroundings. One never knows when trouble will find you." Stark stared blankly at him, and Loki smiled coldly. "A thought. I am exploring the premises."

"My workrooms are computer locked if you don't have the passcode."

"Then it's a good thing I found the passcode, isn't it?" Loki peered around Stark. "If I may repeat the question…"

"A project," Stark said blandly. "Now if you _don't _mind-"

"What sort of project?"

"A me project." Stark pushed a button, and whatever it was, it sank into the countertop, which closed over it. "Not a you project. I thought we were clear on the no snooping thing. And how did you get in here?"

"I walked." Loki turned in a slow circle, inspecting the room. Midgardians and their machines. Even if he had to allow that some of them were…remarkable. "I cannot abide not knowing things."

"I guess I can sympathize with that," Stark said, after a moment. "But still. No snooping. But seriously – how? Did JARVIS tell on me?"

There was a moment's pause, and then a faintly chagrined sounding, "I'm afraid your orders were overridden, sir."

"Overridd-" Stark's head snapped around to look at Loki, who smiled brightly at him. "And how'd you pull _that _off? I got the impression you'd never met any A.I. in your life, and JARVIS is the best there is." There was no trace of false modesty in his voice, eyes sharp.

"I have a multiplicity of talents. And am quite persuasive."

"You can't persuade a computer to ignore its programming. I mean. Not like you're talking about, metaphorically I guess you could consider-"

Loki buffed his nails, perhaps a little ostentatiously. "I have had a great number of people tell me what I can and cannot do, what is and is not possible. Fairly frequently, I've found their inability is merely a lack of imagination on their part."

Stark's eyes narrowed. "That so."

"Indeed. Magic-"

"Don't call it that, it makes me itchy." Stark made a face. "I can deal with superheroes and super-strength and super-mutations but when you start throwing _magic _around-"

"I do not think it particularly cares what you think," Loki said, eyebrows quirking slightly. "It exists, whether you would like it to or not."

"And that's how you do your…stuff." Stark looked like he wanted to scowl. "It makes no sense. It doesn't _work._"

"Ah," Loki murmured. "I see. So when I reached this place before you yesterday…"

"I am _going _to work out a mathematical explanation for that," Stark said stubbornly. "—how many - wizardcasting types are there, then?"

"Here? Few."

Stark's gaze sharpened. "Where more?"

_Damn. _Like as not Stark had already put together that he was not from Midgard, but to hand him proof, or to steer him toward the truth – he didn't trust Stark half as far as the man could throw himself. Loki shrugged, deliberately loosely.

"It would be mere conjecture at best. I'm not inclined to indulge."

"'_You're not inclined to indulge.' _Seriously, where did you learn to talk, watching Jane Austen marathons?" Stark shook his head. "You are probably the weirdest SHIELD agent I've ever met, you know that?" Stark said, after a moment. "And SHIELD's all pretty weird, so-"

Loki's head came up, and he stopped tracing his fingers over the intricate metal workings of some device whose purpose he could not divine. Something tickled at the edge of his senses. "Silence," he said. Remarkably, Stark actually stopped talking, though apparently only out of surprise.

"Hey, no need to get snippy with m-"

"I said silence," Loki repeated, a little more firmly. He reached out, slowly, carefully. There was something, not magic, but something odd, an _irregularity…_ "There is something…"

There was a loud pop, and the lights flicked out. Loki summoned a knife to hand and took a sharp step back. "Stark, what is this-"

"Don't freak out – balls! Power surge, I guess…is this what you were talking about, are you some kind of blackout detector or-"

"And that means?" Loki could hear his own voice vibrate. His hearing sharpened, all his senses alert with a sudden certainty of danger.

"Just – ekeltricity malfunction, Mr. Middle Ages, no biggie. Calm down, give it a minute, the generator will kick in – I am getting off grid as soon as possible, I swear…"

Loki's spine was crawling. He turned in a slow circle, his eyes still adjusting to the dark, almost there when the lights came on as suddenly as they'd gone out. He closed his eyes, shaking his head to clear the spots from his vision.

"Hold on," said Stark, "what're you-"

It came together in one searing moment. _This is an attack. _"Stark!" he cried. "Get _down," _even as he spun, forcing his eyes open. The man on the other side of the glass was holding a device with the unmistakable feel of a weapon, and even as Loki let the knife in his hand fly, he fired.

Loki grabbed Stark by the back of his shirt and flung him bodily out of the way. He felt the strike graze him like a punch in the shoulder, enough to take his breath away and knock him briefly off balance, but not enough to keep him from calling on his magic and lashing out with a concussive burst of power that exploded the clear walls still intact outwards in splinters. Overkill, as it turned out. The first knife had found its target in the man's throat.

He took a few deep breaths and rolled his shoulder. It was still working. Glanced over at Stark, who looked dazed, but seemed to be picking himself up without too much trouble. "Did you just throw me across a room?" was his first question.

"I hardly think that's the question you should be asking right now," Loki said flatly. He waited, looking at the corridor. Where there was one assassin, there were often others.

"I mean – you did, though. Just so we're clear."

"I suspect my employers would be displeased if I let someone put a hole through your body. I understand those are usually fatal."

"I take it back," Stark said, after a moment. "You do have a sense of humor. It's just a terrible sense of humor." No one seemed to be coming. Perhaps this man had been alone. He ignored Stark's comment. Loki paced over to the corpse and dropped to a couch, retrieving his knife, wiping it on the man's clothes, and starting to go through the would-be assassin's pockets.

"Shit," Stark said, staring blankly at the smoking hole in his wall. "That was…I didn't see that coming."

"Obviously." Loki found a single card in the man's pocket and pulled it out. He didn't recognize the name, and the face of the photo was not the dead man in front of him, but the logo was recognizably Stark Industries. He held it out. "Who is this?"

"Who is wh- oh." Stark took the card and looked at it. Loki half closed his eyes and probed the body with magic. "It's Duncan McAllister, one of the board members – guess that explains how he got in, though not how he compromised JARVIS…" Loki nodded absently and summoned his hunting knife, brought it to the man's wrist. Stark jumped forward. "Whoa! Hold on, what are you-"

"There's something under the skin."

"Yeah, okay, can you not – oh, _thanks._" Stark sounded a strange mixture of squeamish and annoyed. "Appreciate it."

Loki pulled the small piece of metal from where it had been nestled just under the skin. He examined it briefly, and then held it out. "I suggest you examine this. It might be enlightening."

"I am not taking…you're just doing this on purpose." But the man stuck out his hand with a grimace, and Loki dropped the little thing into his palm. "If you could refrain from partial flayings in my labs in the future, though, that'd be great."

"I'll do my best to remember." Loki checked once more through the man's body, and then stood, just as he heard a clatter of shoes on the stairs.

"Tony?" Ms. Potts' voice was sharp, but not quite enough to wholly mask the worry or fear underneath. "Did I just hear an explosi- oh my _god._" Her hand rose to her mouth for a moment, before she visibly forced it down. She swallowed several times, staring at the body on the floor. "Is that-"

"Hey, Pep," Stark said from behind him, sounding almost jaunty. "Nothing out of the ordinary down here, everything fine-"

"What _happened?_"

"A rather unfortunate attempt to terminate your employer, Virginia," Loki said easily. Her eyes flicked to him, only slightly wide. Admirably collected, this woman. "Unsuccessful, of course. I'm afraid the majority of the damage is mine; a more controlled spell takes time I did not have."

"Oh," Ms. Potts said, slightly faintly. "I see." She swallowed again. "What about the…"

"I shall see to the remains of our unfortunate intruder." The ache in his shoulder had already subsided. Had they not counted on his presence? Or assumed on the disorientation of the darkness...this seemed as though it had been set up to fail. And that seemed…

It fit together somehow, he was sure of it. Stolen devices of potent power. An attempt on Stark's life.

Potts' phone and Stark's began buzzing at the same time. "Hello?" they said, nearly in tandem. Loki waited. Stark listened for a few moments, and just as Potts started to say, "I'm sorry, I don't know what," interrupted with an almost harsh, "Upstairs."

Loki tensed. "What is it?"

"More good news," Stark said, and his expression had gone grim. He headed for the door, and after a glance at the corpse on the floor, Loki followed. Potts hung up abruptly. Her frown had deepened, and she'd gone a shade paler. "Who was that?" Stark asked briskly.

"Spam," Potts said, so promptly it was an obvious lie. Stark didn't comment, though, so Loki refrained himself. What was he missing, here? Something to make it fit.

"JARVIS, turn on the TV in the closest room. Channel – let's say six," Stark said, to his ceiling. "Luke, you might want to get SHIELD on the phone. I get the feeling they're going to call in a few minutes anyway."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "What exactly is-"

They stepped into a room with an enormous flat screen TV mounted on the wall, already on. The newscaster was standing in front of a scene of what looked like chaos, people milling about and the low roar of a troubled crowd.

_TONY STARK IMPLICATED IN ATTEMPTED MURDER OF ACTIVIST? _read a scrolling bar. Potts stared for just a moment, then turned on her heel. "I'm going to go make some calls."

He and Stark both stared at the screen. "…nconfirmed rumors that the killer was armed with repulsor technology, the only known producer of which is Stark Industries. Stark Industries, which is run by billionaire and part-time superhero Tony Stark, aka Iron Man…"

"Well," Loki said, after a moment's silence. "It looks as though things just got a great deal more complicated."

**Interlude (XV)**

He did not let himself hide away in his new city for long. He goaded himself out _(how pathetic are you? Menial labor and one mortal you barely knew, and you mope about like a sentimental weakling?)_ and took to the streets. He familiarized himself with them until he could move comfortably through a fairly sizable territory. It was easier this time. He knew his way better, how to blend in and act naturally and keep his distance.

That last he should have remembered sooner. They were _mortals. _How had he ever let himself become attached to one? Laughable. Absurd.

Well, he would remember now. Perhaps belatedly, but he had learned.

He gave it four days of careful watching to be certain that he hadn't been followed, and then went looking for work.

He deliberately did not look for a bookstore.

Loki turned onto some quieter streets not far from the slightly shabby hotel he was staying in, thoughts somewhat distant, and a mortal child who came perhaps up to his hip crashed into him at full speed. The boy stumbled back, slightly dazed, and Loki's reflex reaction to snarl was cut off by one look at his face. Terrified, and with a purple bruise rising on his jaw.

"Sorry," the boy said hastily, and cast a panicked look over his shoulder before turning to scamper down a side street. Only a moment later, a group of children only a little taller than the first barreled around the corner like a pack of wolves in pursuit of prey. They were faster, and caught up to the boy as he started to climb over a fence, one of them grabbing him by the back of the shirt and pulling him off it.

"I _told _you you'd pay, you little stinkbug," he heard one of them snarl, hauling a fist back.

_It's none of your business, _Loki thought. _He'll have to learn to fend for himself. Like you did._ _Are you going to repeat your mistake so quickly? _He started to turn away.

He heard the dull thud of fists hitting flesh. Almost thoughtless, his mouth shaped the words, not turning around. He could see just out of the corner of his eye the one he suspected was the ringleader drawing back for another blow, and then he looked up and went deathly pale. It was only a moment before the others caught sight of the visions flickering at the corners of their eyes, and then they started screaming and scattered, forgetting their quarry in their fear. The unlucky boy looked slightly baffled as his enemy backed up, almost whimpering, and then turned and bolted. None of them gave Loki a second look.

Then it was just him and the boy who'd run into him, the latter staring at him with wide eyes and an expression almost of awe.

"Was that you?"

Loki slid his hands into his pockets. "And how, pray tell, would I manage that?"

"Magic," the boy said, promptly.

"I see." Loki inclined his head slightly. "I'm afraid I cannot take credit. Perhaps you ought to be more careful in the future, however? They seemed quite upset with you."

The boy's face set. "I didn't do anything."

"Lie better." Loki gave the boy a small, crooked smile. "I must be off, I'm afraid."

"Wait!" Loki paused, reflexively. "Are you a wizard?"

"No," Loki said, slightly firmly. "I am not. Shouldn't you be going home?"

The boy drew himself up a little. "You should walk me there, Mr. Wizard."

Loki's bark of a laugh was more startled than anything. "I think not."

The boy's eyes widened a little and his lower lip began to tremble. "What if they come back, though." Loki resisted the half helpless urge to laugh.

"Hit them and run very quickly," he advised. The tears vanished almost as soon as they'd come. "You cannot expect someone else to be there to protect you." He turned. "Go home, boy. No doubt your mother is fretting."

"Carl," the boy said, almost defensively. Loki raised his eyebrows. "My _name's _Carl."

"Carl, then." Loki turned, then, resolutely, and began to walk away. "The point stands. Go home."

He half expected further argument, or else for the boy to trail after him, and caught himself feeling a strange kind of disappointment when he looked back and Carl had already gone. So much the better, Loki reminded himself. That was the way it was going to be. And that was for the best.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Notes: /insert bitter laughter here about intervals between chapters and how that didn't happen_

_This fic is still a work in progress! Very much a work in progress. However! Because I am who I am, I am constantly working on at least five or six things at the same time, which means that sometimes this one takes a while. Also because this is probably the hardest things I'm working on, for a lot of reasons. Anyway, those are my excuses. I hope you like them. I think they are pretty excuses._

_As always, with much thanks to my beta, zaataronpita, who makes sure my words make sense, and to all of you who read my writing and say nice things about it. You make me unspeakably happy, I hope you know._

* * *

Romanov arrived with nearly startling promptness after Loki called to report the change in circumstances. The man's voice betrayed no hint of strain over the phone, though Loki had to think…SHIELD was implicated here, and whether this was doing of theirs or not, that could hardly help them.

But that was not his concern. For the moment – things might have complicated. But they'd also become more interesting.

"Well, you're learning the first rule," Natasha said with a crooked smile. "Nothing stays simple for long. Especially the simple ones. You're lucky. They called me off mission for this, so either it's serious or they didn't think you'd work with anyone else."

Loki smiled at her. "Perhaps a bit of both?"

"Mmm."

Stark emerged from the room next door, talking rapidly into one of his devices. "—didn't have anything to do with – back _off. _I don't care what's happening to the stock, I'm not changing my mind on this one." The man hung up brusquely and looked back and forth between them. "Did you know you have the same 'I'm pretending I'm not listening intently' expression? That's eerie. They teach you that one at spy school?"

"No," Natasha said blandly. "Bad news?"

Stark scratched the back of his head and grimaced. "Surprise, we're still plummeting in value. If I were going to sell…"

"But you're not." Romanov's eyes were sharp. "Have you called the guy whose ID our expired new friend used?"

"Duncan McAllister? Yeah. He's dead." Stark's voice was flat. "Someone's not fucking around."

"That doesn't rule out an inside job. If this guy had killed you…what happens to Stark Industries?"

Stark shrugged. "Most of the real tech is under lockdown where no one but Pepper or Rhodey can reach it. The rest goes to the board, who's a bunch of rats, but they're a bunch of rats I'm paying and they know it's just my genius that keeps this company competitive."

Loki 'hmm'ed quietly, and Romanov glanced at him. "Thoughts?"

"Perhaps. Only I wonder if this assassination was meant to fail."

"To what effect?" Natasha didn't sound dismissive. Genuinely curious, and that was a small and pleasant surprise, not to have his competency questioned by her at least. Even if Stark looked dubious, he held his peace. Loki let out a slow breath through his nose.

"I'm not certain. Yet. Perhaps merely a distraction while this other attack occurred to discredit Stark. Perhaps all of this is a smokescreen to distract from some other, entirely separate plan. Can your board of directors override your decisions?"

Stark frowned. "If they vote unanimously. Yeah, I guess."

"Then perhaps it is meant to frighten _them, _and thus to force you to react. I don't know. It is like…" Loki closed his eyes. "Like looking at a chessboard, but half the pieces are covered. Someone is setting something in motion. I simply can't see the way it falls together yet."

"It's not like I've got a lack of enemies," Stark muttered. Romanov frowned, and Loki kept quiet and watched them both, evaluating the play between them and coming to no particular conclusions. He wasn't particularly surprised by that, at least not when it came to Natasha.

"Pepper?"

"Gone to D.C. She's not happy about it, but…what about this other thing? The SHIELD agent using my tech?"

"I can hear the accusation, Tony. Don't throw it at me. As far as I know, SHIELD's got nothing to do with your mysterious vanishing tech."

"As far as you know."

"I've ruled it out entirely," Loki interrupted, slightly dismissively. "Amusing as I would find it to be otherwise… SHIELD isn't composed of fools. At least not entirely. And this doesn't feel like their hand. But I don't know enough players to say whose it _does_."

"Whereas I can think of too many." Romanov's voice was slightly dry. Loki half closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

"But at the same time…attempting to kill a visible public figure is a very expensive and highly risky diversionary tactic. Perhaps our opponent is that foolish. Or perhaps it was meant to succeed, and then again – for what purpose?"

Stark crossed his arms. "I'm not sure why I'm supposed to believe the pair of _you _that this isn't SHIELD's play. And don't even try to tell me they wouldn't, Tasha, I've seen some of those classified files." His eyes flicked to Loki. "And then there's you."

Loki gave him a thin, tight smile. "Indeed there is." His looked back to Natasha, not quite pointedly turning his back. He could feel Stark's eyes lingering on him, but he didn't say anything further. "The other assassin…"

"In our custody. And before you ask, Stark, yes, he is one of ours."

"A traitor?"

"Not necessarily." Natasha rolled her shoulders back. "Hill's talking to him right now. We'll see in a little bit what exactly's going on. Tony…"

"I need to make a statement about this." Stark wrinkled his nose. "Deny responsibility which no one's going to believe, try to…great. _Great. _Maybe this is all just supposed to give me a headache. In which case it is succeeding admirably."

"Somehow I don't think that's it." Natasha clapped him on the shoulder. Loki frowned at nothing in particular. There was something he was just missing, just out of reach. Something he was reminded of, perhaps. He called in a sheet of paper and a pen and sat down at the table, drawing three circles with two labeled _Stark _and _SHIELD, _the third blank.

_SHIELD wants Stark's weaponry. Stark is disinclined. Wealth and power attract envy. This is not about envy; this is about power. Who benefits? 'A step at a time, Loki.' Don't force it. The pieces will come together on their own. _

Stark was bending over his shoulder. "What are you – what the hell language is that?"

"Shh," Natasha said, which he appreciated.

_An attempted assassination against Stark. Another using stolen weaponry, perpetrated by a SHIELD agent. _"How do you intend to explain your weaponry in other hands if you did not put it there?" He asked, distantly.

"Technology," Stark corrected, sounding peeved. "And I guess – I'll have to own that it's stolen. That there's been some…why?"

"And if someone has already received word that an attempt was made on your life?" Loki's hand moved over the paper. _If you want something the best way to get it is to…_

"Oh," Natasha said quietly. She saw it. Loki pulled the pen up and looked down at the page, covered in sprawling scrawl. He'd remembered what it was he'd been thinking of. Many, many years ago. A story he'd been told.

"How would they – okay, did I just miss something important?"

Loki stood. "Speak to no one. Cancel your conference. I think someone is attempting a coup, and they intend to use you to do it."

"A – _what?_" Stark sounded incredulous. "A coup against-"

"If your security starts to look unreliable," Natasha said quietly, "you're going to get pushback to do something. The military will push for it, and so will SHIELD, and between them and your board…stock drops, your reputation suffers. But say someone steps in, offers to help out, says they'd be happy to stabilize such an important company…"

Stark tensed. "I'm not an idiot, Tasha. I wouldn't-"

"And if the move went above your head? Someone pulling political strings, or if they went straight to the board of directors? Do you have override power if they all vote against you?" Loki closed his eyes. _If you want something, sometimes the best way to get it is to make them give it to you for safekeeping. _He could almost hear his voice, conspiratorial, warm, almost teasing. _Remember that, Loki. _"But someone's trying to undermine SHIELD too, make us look – either like we're acting outside the law-"

"Which you are," Stark said, and Natasha gave him a look.

"-or like we've been infiltrated. We come under investigation. From there…things get ugly. Maybe someone with political clout steps in with governmental blessing. Meanwhile, you're trying to keep your hold on your company and keep SHIELD off your back. If you wanted to set yourself up for serious power, Stark, where would you start?"

"You're speculating wildly." Stark's eyes were narrowed. "Who are you thinking could even pull this off?"

"It's a shorter list, definitely. And all of them people we can't target without something rock solid." She glanced at him, and there was something…faintly impressed there, that she let him see. "You put that together fast."

"A story I once heard," Loki said, quietly. "With a similar…plot. Fortuitous that I remembered it now."

Stark was giving him a thoughtful look again. It made him feel tense, his skin slightly too tight and itchy. "Yeah. I'll say. If I call off the conference now, though, it'll just…"

"Don't call it off," Natasha suggested. "Just don't turn up. No one will be particularly surprised. Call back when we've worked out a response." Stark shook his head.

"No, I'd better…I'll talk to Pepper. Let her figure out how to handle this."

"Then you'd better do it soon, because-" A device at Romanov's belt beeped, and she glanced at it. "Right," she said. "I've got some legwork to do, see if I can pull anything out. Luke, if you'd stay around here, keep an eye out…"

Loki felt a small well of disappointment. "It would be my pleasure," he said, with just the perfect amount of insincerity. The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched.

"I bet." She looked back and forth between them. "Watch your back, Tony. We'll figure this out."

"Do I look worried?" Stark fired back. Natasha rolled her eyes in Loki's direction and headed for the stairs. "I'll meet you both back here. Stark, stay close to Silver. And don't try anything stupid."

"How do I know he's not going to shoot me?" Stark protested.

"I wouldn't shoot you if I meant to kill you," Loki said, perfectly mildly. The look Stark gave him was somewhere between annoyed and faintly alarmed. Romanov made a sound like a muffled snort and didn't offer further reply.

He and Stark regarded each other for a few moments after she was gone. Then Stark grinned. "Well," he said, "I know I could use a drink. You?"

~.~

Stark drank almost as well as any of the Aesir. Loki watched him and sipped at his own bitter beverage – scotch, he thought Stark had said. "So that teleportation thing," Stark said, sprawled loosely on one of his many couches. "Are you sure you don't have a more coherent explanation for that?"

"I'll try to put something down," Loki said. Stark eyed him and frowned.

"Was that sarcastic? I could go either way."

"When you make up your mind," Loki said calmly, "Let me know." Half out of habit, he checked the building again. No unexpected signatures. He wanted to be doing something, something _active. _Sitting here, watching a mortal fool…

"So are you always a snarky bitch, or am I just lucky?"

Loki's temper prickled. Somewhere out there, Natasha was doing something useful, and he was here. Serving as Stark's puzzle to solve. "Just lucky, I suppose," he said, and had a slow swallow of his drink, though of course it didn't touch him. He almost wished for something stronger.

"I don't know what _you've _got to be peeved about…"

"Listening to you talk makes me short-tempered," Loki said pleasantly, and drained the rest of his glass.

"Touchy." Stark stretched. "So. Hey. Now that we've got comfortable, sitting around waiting to hear back from Tatiana – do you know that reference? Okay, probably not – how about storytime?"

Loki raised his eyebrows, though he felt a low cautious hum start under his skin. "What sort of story are you expecting?"

"Autobiography would be nice." Stark sat up, and his eyes no longer seemed so blurry or his voice quite so drunk. "Who are you? Where are you from? You're one enormous blank. In some ways you seem like you don't know anything at all and then you turn around and I feel like you've been doing this longer than I've been alive. JARVIS recognizes something weird about your bio-signatures but can't pin down what it is. You've got pretty damn powerful magic voodoo stuff with which you casually break a few known laws of physics and yet I'd never heard even a whisper about you before you turned up with Nat at some party. You're not human. You're not even a mutant. So what the hell are you?" Loki held perfectly still and kept his eyes forward, felt his fingers tighten on his glass.

Not human. Not even a mutant. _Not even an Aesir. _"You've just answered your own question, haven't you?"

"I just have a lot of _nots._ Not exactly enlightening."

Loki could feel his shoulders winding tight. "Is this _terribly _important right now?"

"I'm bored. Offensive question? Wasn't supposed to be. What's a few basic questions between friends? Or…whatever." Stark's gaze was shrewd, intent. "That was really what I was after, you know. My cunning plan. I mean, the theft and assassination things weren't my idea, but I don't like mysteries – well, I like mysteries, but I like _solving _them."

"I told you before that I'm not a puzzle for you to solve, Stark."

"Are you an alien?" The question was blunt. Straightforward, and so took Loki off guard. He hesitated for a moment too long. "So that's a yes. I mean, I guess I figured. Nothing else really made sense. If it's not a variety of life known on Earth…"

Loki's right hand flexed. "I still fail to see how it's any business of yours."

"Like I said, I'm curious. And also bored. So where're you from? You're not – some kind of lizard under that handsome exterior, are you? Cause that'd be weird. And also kind of disappointing."

"No," Loki said, a little tightly. "I am not…some kind of lizard." _Something else, entirely worse. _He kept himself from twitching. "The name of my former abode would mean little to you."

"So what's it called? What, does it have a funny name or something? Can't have been that great if you'd rather be here…"

_It was beautiful. Splendid and beautiful and perfect. Which is why-_

"So do you have a spaceship somewhere around here? No, I guess if you can teleport all by your lonesome why take a spaceship…so is that how you got here? Felt like vacationing on Earth for a little while? Or was that an accidental kind of thing? Just kind of tripped over a rock and whoops, fell through a wormhole-"

_(Falling. Endless, endless falling.)_ Loki's spine was rigid. "You have no idea of what you speak so flippantly."

"Nope, not really," Stark agreed cheerfully. "So are you going to fill me in or just sit there like maybe if you wish hard enough I'll go away? Cause fair warning-"

"I do not _wish _to speak to you, Stark. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Little bit," Stark said flippantly. "Yeah. Sheesh. I thought it was a SHIELD thing but is it just an alien thing – or is that why you ended up here, too snippy for Planet Wherever-"

Loki stood, stiff backed and tense. "Find someone else to be your entertainment," he said, his voice sounding harsh to his own ears. "I will remain until your difficulties are settled because I have agreed to, but do not expect me to make conversation with you. And do not expect me to tell you anything of myself." Stark blinked. He seemed genuinely surprised.

"—whoa, hey," he started to say.

"I have had enough," Loki said, cutting him off. He turned for the door. "I will tolerate no more of this." He heard Stark start to say something more, but didn't listen. His blood hummed. _What right do any of them have to know anything of my life? They would mock what they hardly even begin to understand._ The thought felt hollow, though.

(What would it matter? A quiet thought, at the very back of his mind. He would know nothing of what it meant. Nothing of who you are, and if he did, would not know to care. Why react with such…)

It simmered in him nonetheless. Stark did not, to his relief, come looking for him. He set a working to alert him if anything changed and went to the roof of Stark's building, where he sat cross-legged watching the stars, so different from the ones he knew.

It was there that Natasha found him in the morning, still awake. The look on her face was grim. "Stark's board's shut him out of their meeting. He's working on it now, but it doesn't look good. Fury wants us back at headquarters, he's got another detail on Stark."

"Does he," Loki said coolly. Natasha eyed him for a moment, and then just nodded. "Then I suppose we had best get to it." He stood, rolled his shoulders, and offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

~.~

As a courtesy, he shielded her from the worst effects of the travel. She still looked a little wild-eyed for a fraction of a second after they landed in SHIELD's headquarters, though she swept it away quickly and started down the hallway without asking for his direction.

"Has something changed other than Stark's status?"

"We found our assassin. I didn't hear anything beyond that, though. Except that things are getting messy at the higher levels fast and Fury's starting to have a hard time keeping the government off our backs." Natasha turned confidently down another hallway and then opened an unmarked door. Hill turned to look at them from where she was watching a panel of screens, all showing the same man behind a pane of glass.

"That's our guy?" Natasha said, without preamble.

"Colin Taylor," Hill affirmed, her eyes flicking distrustfully over Loki for one moment before turning away from them both and back to monitoring the video feed. "Five years with us. Four as active field agent."

"And suddenly…what's he said?"

"He doesn't remember anything," Hill said with some frustration. "Says he went home and there was someone in his house, but other than that…there's no sign of an intruder, and his activities yesterday were normal right up until…"

Loki narrowed his eyes. "Magic?"

"No," Natasha said. "Drugs. His tox screen turned up a cocktail that would make him highly suggestible and subsequently create a memory block. That's something we can work through with time, but…time is something we may not have."

Loki's right hand flexed at his side. He could, he thought, probably break through whatever 'block' this mortal concoction had created. Extract the information they needed. But…Natasha was watching him. If she guessed what he was thinking, she didn't ask.

Natasha looked back at the screen, showing the man inside his glass cage. He looked truly wretched. Loki didn't recognize him. "Whoever's setting this up is moving fast, but if they're counting on Stark buckling under pressure then they're going to have a surprise coming for them. But that they pulled SHIELD into this…"

"Do you have ideas of possibilities?"

"Still too many," Natasha said, lowly. "Could be AIM or HYDRA, or it could be any number of billionaires making a power play, Justin Hammer, Norman Osborn, Wilson Fisk…someone with a lot of money and a lot of heft. We don't exactly have a shortage of those."

"Hammer's still out," Hill said, firmly. "We've got enough on him that he hasn't managed to buy his way out yet after the affair with Vanko. There's the possibility this isn't someone we know, too. New players turn up."

Natasha shook her head. "That doesn't seem right for this. Someone's been setting this up for a while and knows exactly where to strike. And I get the feeling they've got more of a hand to play."

Hill frowned. "If there's another attack…we don't know how whoever this is got to Taylor in the first place."

"Then I guess we'd better get moving, huh?" Natasha drew herself up. "Is Barton…"

"Hill?" A voice Loki didn't recognize crackled through the communicator at her hip. "We've got a problem."

Hill's face went stormcloud dark. "What _now?_"

"Have you got Agent Romanov with you right now?" Natasha tensed. "Check CNN's webpage."

Natasha jerked. "What-" Hill was already pulling out another device, calling up a window. Loki could see the headline blaring from where he was standing: _SHIELD Operative Internationally Infamous Murderer?_

Loki looked to Romanov's face. She didn't pale, but he could see her tense. The stormcloud of Hill's face deepened. "Fantastic," Romanov said flatly. "_Fantastic. _Maria-"

"I know." Hill took a sharp breath through her noise. "Go, Natasha. Keep your head down. We'll handle this."

"I've worked in hotter than this, Hill. You know as well as I do-"

"Get out of sight, Agent. It's not just you they're gunning for, and I need you in the field if…" she trailed off, with a sideways glance at Loki. Loki kept his expression flatly neutral.

"Fine," she said, after a moment. "—fine. Make sure I have a job to come back to when this blows over." She turned on her heel and strode out. Loki arched his eyebrows at Hill.

"If you'll forgive me for asking what just…"

"The playing field just shifted, Silver." Hill was punching something into her communicator, and then started for the door. "This isn't yours to handle. Go keep an eye on Stark. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Loki fought the urge to bare his teeth. "You might be surprised what I can do."

"Back off," Hill said, her voice sharpening. "That's an order. Clear?" Loki forced down the urge to argue. Arguing here would only land him with more chains, and perhaps more difficult ones to slip than playing watchdog to Stark.

"Clear enough, Agent Hill." He sketched a faintly mocking bow that she ignored, stepping into the elevator. "I would not dream of disobeying."

When she was gone, he reached out, seeking Romanov. She was moving quickly but still in the building, and he twisted himself through space to land in step beside her. She didn't jump. "Luke," she said, voice cool, controlled.

"Would _you _like to inform me what is going on?"

"If Hill wouldn't, I shouldn't."

"May I guess, then? Someone is attacking SHIELD. And they are doing so through you. Is that so?" Natasha's step hitched, just barely, and she glanced sideways at him. Her pace slowed, barely.

"Good guess." Her head turned back forward. "I'm going to have to disappear for a while. Hard to say how long. Until I'm not a political liability." For just a moment, a trace of something was in her voice, not quite bitterness, but it was gone swiftly.

"I'm afraid I don't…"

"If SHIELD needs to deny that they knew about my checkered past to stay functioning," she interrupted, "if I need to be a rogue agent for this organization to keep working – that's what I'll do." Her voice was slightly tight. "Don't try to contact me. Not even with your…skills."

Loki stopped. "You're simply going to – vanish?"

"This is my job," Natasha said, without a trace of emotion. "If this is what I have to do…" She paused, and turned, finally. "If I can't come back…" Her smile was a little crooked.

The boiling knot of feeling low in his belly hatched, and rose up, unfurling wings. Anger. No. Fury.

They could have Stark. They could have SHIELD. But what right, what _right…_

Curiously enough, it was the easiest thing to smile. "I'll do my best to console Barton."

Natasha wrinkled her nose. "Don't try too hard." The crooked smile grew, just a little. "It's been fun." She turned again, and this time he watched her go, slow rage growing hotter, the wheels of his mind starting to spin.

_The playing field has shifted. _Yes. It had. But this kind of game, this kind of poison, he knew best of all. Loki strode for the stairs. Sometimes things needed to be done.

_I will not let this happen. _

The unfortunate SHIELD agent was sleeping when Loki reached him, descending several levels and slipping past the guards with ease. He glanced briefly at the cameras and after considering leaving them on with false footage, simply shorted the circuits with a little flick of power. He let himself into the cell, paced across to the cot, and looked down.

He placed a working on the room to block sound and placed a hand over the man's mouth. "Wake up," he murmured, burning the faint trace of whatever he'd been given – probably to help him sleep – out of his veins. "I am not here to hurt you."

The man struggled into wakefulness, opened his eyes, and tried to lash out. Loki ignored the blow. "I am a friend," he said, suffusing his voice with powerful suggestion, _believe me, trust me, relax. _The man's eyes clouded, then cleared.

"What's going on?"

Loki's heart pounded hollowly in his chest. "I need to know what is in your mind," Loki said, keeping his voice deliberately calm, reasonable. The man's face fell.

"I don't remember. I've tried…"

"I can…help you. Bring back whatever you've forgotten." The agent started to look suspicious.

"Is this some kind of hypnosis…"

"No," Loki cut him off. "It will be as though you never forgot. But it will not be enjoyable." That was an understatement. The man didn't even pause.

"Yes. I'll do it." Loki eased the power urging trust, slightly, cautiously.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." Still not the slightest pause. "If it exposes whoever did this to me…" His stomach fell slightly. He'd given him a chance, Loki thought, to refuse. He is willing. (_Willing like a child who doesn't know what he agrees to. How are you any different than Doom who would have taken your mind and molded it_-)

_Natasha, _he thought fiercely, and reached out to cradle the man's face between his palms. _Move, fool._

"What do I have to do?" There, just the slightest note of nervousness. Loki closed his eyes.

"Nothing," he said. "Just relax."

~.~

He left the man insensate and probably relieved to be so, and did not allow himself to feel any compunction about it. So be it. He had an image, a few scattered words. He walked the full distance to where he remembered Fury's office was, and unlocked the door and walked in without knocking.

"Scot Industries," Loki said. "Who owns it?"

"That door was locked for a reason," Fury said, looking slightly bleary eyed but no less displeased. "What the fuck are you talking about-"

"Scot Industries. A small logo on the man who drugged your agent's sleeve. You are lucky he is so observant."

"I thought Taylor didn't remember anything."

"He doesn't." Loki bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Who owns the company, Director?" Fury stared at him for a few more moments, glowering, and then turned to his computer, tapped a few keys.

"Alan Scot. It's not him pulling this off, he doesn't have the resources-"

"Then who owns him, Director?" Loki cut him off, implacable. Follow the trail of power. No matter how far removed, there's always a thread leading back. More lessons. He wondered if this had always been Odin's intention for him, to be the knife in the dark to do the filthy things Thor could not-

He smothered the thought. Fury shook his head but turned back, tapped a few more keys, and Loki watched the expression dawn on his face. "Who?" he demanded again.

"Osborn," Fury said, after a long moment. "OsCorp, several branches up the line, has a majority share in Scot Industries."

"It's him," Loki said, with certainty. "Your spider at the center of the web. Norman Osborn."

Fury looked at him for a long moment. "He's been our prime suspect since the beginning," he said, finally. "We can't move on him, though."

"Why not?" Loki could feel the rage starting to intensify in his chest. "If you know-"

"What's the proof?" Fury interrupted.

"I coaxed it from your agent's mind," Loki said, flatly. Fury gave him a look that was suddenly sharp – _another thing you neglected to mention? _ Loki thought he might have seen - and then expelled a breath.

"You think that'll stand up in court? It won't. Osborn's got heft, Osborn's got power and powerful friends. We need rock solid proof to go after him. Particularly right now, where if he weasels out of it and we're under the microscope…"

Loki felt his lips peel back from his teeth. "So you're powerless."

"Don't get pissy with me, Silver. Besides, I thought Hill told you to back off. So back off. This isn't something you're qualified to deal with. I don't need you creating more fucking shit for me to clean up. If you need something to do, go babysit Stark."

Loki looked to the window and clenched his jaw, taking a slow breath through his nose. _You do not speak to me this way, _he wanted to snarl, but he needed to focus. Focus. What was the best course of action in this…

"Fine," he said, shortly, and twisted himself out of Fury's office to land in the middle of Stark's living room. He took a moment to locate Stark in his workshop, descended to the necessary floor, shorted out the lock with a touch of magic and let himself in. An alarm started blaring the moment the door opened, and Stark jerked upright from a cot in the corner, brandishing a wrench.

"What the-" he said, slightly blearily.

"Romanov is in trouble," Loki said, flatly. "I require information from you."

Stark stared at him, and then threw back his head and bellowed, "I'm fine, JARVIS!" before refocusing on Loki. "I thought you weren't talking to me anymore."

"Times change," Loki said. "And I need to know everything you can tell me about Norman Osborn."

~.~

Loki sat in the dark with the blinds closed, and waited. Ultimately, he didn't have to wait long.

"Schedule it for 9 AM, Stacy…no, on Tuesday." The man, _Norman Osborn,_ stepped in, eyes on the device in his hands. "Uh huh. Why are the shades down in here? –no, not talking to you. Set the board meeting for…" He groped for a light, switched it on, and stopped. His voice trailed off. Loki, seated behind the desk, waited. "I'll call you back. And can you send a security detail to my office?" The man hung up. Loki smiled at him.

"Good evening. I don't intend to be long."

"I have the right to remove trespassers by force, Mr…"

"Silver. And you may try." Loki leaned back in the chair. "I'm afraid your security detail might come out the worse for wear for the attempt. May we not have a polite conversation?"

"Who sent you?" Osborn asked. His feet were planted, Loki observed, posture radiating confidence. A man who knew his own power, not quite over the edge of arrogance. So be it. He'd dealt with similar types often enough before.

"I took it on myself. As a concerned citizen." Loki stretched out his legs and nodded to the chair in front of the desk, which scooted back obligingly at the nudge of his magic. "Please. Sit."

Osborn only startled fractionally before he controlled himself, the second assessing glance more cautious. "Are you some kind of mutant?" The question was clearly meant to provoke. Loki smiled fractionally.

"I don't think that's relevant, Mr. Osborn. If I may get right to the point – you are attempting to undermine both SHIELD and Stark Industries. I have not divined your ultimate goal, though I'm sure it involves acquisition of power. I am not particularly interested. You will stop."

He heard footsteps coming down the hall and glanced to the doors, which swung shut. The spell he placed on them would resist a charging frost-bear. The man didn't so much as twitch or tense. "This is absurd. If you don't leave now, Mr. _Silver, _will not be responsible for the consequences."

"Let me put this another way," Loki cut in smoothly. Raw anger was still vibrating under his skin. Had been seething there for longer than this, he thought, but that it had a target now… "Undo your work, or I will destroy you so thoroughly that within the year you would not know yourself."

Osborn's eyebrows rose, and then he laughed. "A word of advice – if you wish to threaten someone, make ones you can keep. If you leave quietly, I will forget these slanderous allegations due to their sheer outlandish unbelievability, and will only press limited charges against you. I don't know what it is you think allows you to threaten and accost my person, but I must warn you that I am not without powerful friends."

There was a heavy thud against the door. Osborn glanced over, but they didn't budge even slightly. He opened his mouth, no doubt to call out.

"Silence." Loki infused his voice with power. Osborn's mouth snapped closed, and Loki pulled his legs in and rose, slowly. "You think I'm incapable? I am not. I _never _make promises I cannot keep." Osborn struggled to speak, his expression contorting with fury. "I have very few rules, Norman Osborn. Very few things I will not do." He relaxed his power. Osborn scrambled for words, still trying to mask the fact that he was becoming disconcerted. Fearful. _Good._

"If you are from SHIELD – I have hitherto had only the utmost respect for that organization but I will not tolerate-"

"Power is fragile, Norman." He paced toward the man, taking long, smooth strides. "But you would know that. A few whispers in the right ear. A few doubts planted. You've found public indignation useful, but that cuts two ways. You have secrets, I'm sure. Skeletons buried – but none so deeply, I promise you, that I cannot find them."

The mortal's throat bobbed as he swallowed, though his expression remained indignant. "You have no idea who you are-"

"Or what of your mind? I could set nightmares constantly before your eyes, visible only to you. Bend and twist your thoughts until you hardly know reality from dreams. Sever you from sanity and leave you to gibber in your own filth." Loki could feel himself quivering, rage pulsing just under his skin, and he almost wanted to unleash it. Wanted somewhere to expel every frustration seething inside him.

Osborn stared up at him, fear masked well. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" Loki bared his teeth in a smile. "Try me. Gamble with your own mind."

He could hear Osborn's breath quicken. Not a complete fool, then. He cleared his throat. "You can't possibly think-"

Loki's hands flashed up to Osborn's temples, thought _darkness, complete, total. Oblivion and the feeling of falling. _Osborn's body went rigid. "Would you like this to be your world?" He kept his voice low, soft, though he wasn't quite able to suppress the vibration in it. "Forever and ever. Cut off, trapped in a small corner of infinity." He didn't pull his hands away, though Osborn started to try to jerk back. "You will call back your attack. You will see to it that this all disappears. The information you unearthed about the Black Widow will be reburied. Or I shall drive you into madness before I bury you, still living, in unmarked ground." He dropped his hands and stepped back. "I leave it to your choice."

Osborn surfaced from the spell with a gasp, arms flailing as he stumbled back. His eyes were wide and a little wild. "Is this how the government treats its loyal citizens?" His voice shook very slightly.

"No." Loki smiled like a knife slash. "This is how _I _treat those who harm me and mind. And that's why you should worry, Osborn. I have few limits. I daresay it is in your interest to keep at least one in place. Or who _knows _what I might do?"

Osborn said nothing. Rage and fear warred in his eyes. Loki felt a vicious kind of satisfaction as he stepped back and gathered his magic to return home. "I hope this has been…an edifying talk. Twenty-four hours, Osborn. I hope – for your sake – I do not see you again soon."

He twisted himself back to his apartment. He still felt jittery, overly alert, teetering on some invisible edge. He remembered feeling this way before he'd decided to annihilate Jotunheim. The need to destroy, to act in some catastrophic, undeniable way, to do something that couldn't be erased…

Loki booted up his computer and played chess against the computer until his thoughts went numb.

~.~

The knock on his door came in the middle of the night sixteen hours later. Loki was watching an inane television program and avoiding sleep, still feeling restless and discontent. He glanced over at it, immediately wary, but, "It's me," said Romanov's voice.

He turned off the television and padded over to let her in. She slipped in the moment his door was open enough and then turned and looked at him, gaze level. "Funny thing, I was just contacted. The evidence against me has suddenly dried up. I'll still have to lay low for a while, stay off duty, but…I'm off the hook."

Loki summoned a small smile. "Well, that's good news. Though you don't sound thrilled."

"It's a relief, I can tell you that. Want to know the other funny thing I heard? The inquiry against SHIELD's being dropped. Our explanation about a rogue agent's suddenly flying. Isn't that interesting?"

"Quite," Loki said. "A relief. I shall not have to look for new employment."

Romanov regarded him for several long moments, and then exhaled. "What did you do?" she asked, quietly. Loki raised his eyebrows at her.

"Beg pardon?"

"What did you do?" she asked again. "I'm serious, Luke. What did you pull?"

Loki examined her face, trying to read it, but could find nothing there to use. He raised his chin and straightened. "I can be quite persuasive when I wish to be."

"So you threatened…who? Who was behind this?" Loki held his silence, and her eyes sharpened. "Was it Osborn?" He kept his face blank, but apparently that was a giveaway in itself. She swore, violently, in another language. "You _idiot._"

Loki's hackles went up. "I beg your pardon. It seemed there was nothing to be done through _usual _channels. I am well experienced at using others."

"But you don't know Osborn," Romanov said. "He's got a lot of people in his pocket. If he decides to come after you…"

"I made it clear," Loki said, still bristling, "that I am more than capable of destroying everything he has. If he attempts to come after me I will see fit to do so. I do not think he is such a fool as that."

Romanov stared at him for several long moments, and then shook her head, very slightly. "Reckless," she said. "Stupid. I'm not surprised you and Clint didn't hit it off right away. You've got a few things in common."

Loki tried to keep his voice blankly neutral. "I'm pleased to be held so high in your esteem, Agent Romanov."

Natasha turned and looked at him directly. "I don't particularly like my friends pulling dumb stunts. Even if it is to help me."

For a moment, Loki's thoughts stuttered, shuddered. _Friends. _She'd dropped the word so casually. The use of it thoughtless. That was likely it. Thoughtless, a turn of phrase…

He felt a curious warmth unfolding in his chest, driving out the earlier sting. "To help you," he said, scoffing a little. "I was simply ensuring I would not have to seek alternate arrangements."

"Uh huh." Natasha gave him a wry look. "The incidental help's appreciated, anyway. I've gotta go." Her smile faded, a little. "Be careful."

"I am never anything less," Loki said easily. She rolled her eyes.

"See you at work," she said, after a moment, and stepped back towards the door. She paused, her hand on the knob. "Stupid or not, Silver…thanks." She ghosted out on silent feet before he could reply.

The warmth was a single blooming flower in his chest, and his apartment suddenly felt vast and empty. _Friends. _(It means nothing.)

He wished, suddenly, that he'd asked Natasha to stay. His mind was awhirl and he didn't want to be alone.

Loki's mind flashed to his email, the old message from Ms. Fairfax, never answered. _I know that sometimes a friendly voice can be good to hear. _He thought of Foster, Romanov, even Barton, conversations they'd had. They knew more of the truth of him than she had, however little that might be. But nonetheless-

His thoughts lingered and latched onto Frigga, wondered what she was doing, what she was feeling, if she had mourned at all. Out of everyone…he thought sometimes maybe her love had been genuine. Maybe even knowing all the truth, she had nonetheless loved him.

But the thought made him flinch, and he pushed it away. He was done with them. With all of them.

_It's permissible to miss people sometimes, _a small voice murmured at the back of his mind. _You don't need to pretend…_

But he did. Surrender to that sentiment, that inclination, and he would lose it all. He was still trying to claw himself back up from where he'd fallen, and to give in to weakness now…

_No. _

He picked up his phone and dialed the number he still remembered, held it to his ear.

"Hello?" A sleepy, faintly confused voice came over the line after several rings. "Who is this? I'm sorry, I have to speak quietly, my granddaughter's sleeping-"

He should have thought of that, Loki realized belatedly. Should hang up, not be troubling her at this hour- "Margaret," he said, suddenly, and startled at the sound of his own voice. It seemed rough, as if from disuse. There was an unbearably loud silence for a few moments, and then a startled, "Luke?"

He couldn't help a weak laugh. "I did not expect you to recognize my voice."

"You _were _one of my most unusual boarders, of course I – my god! I haven't heard from you in months! Is everything all right?"

Loki's head dropped forward and he felt – horrors – his eyes prickle. "Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, yes, everything is – going quite well. You and Angela are…"

"Good – we're both good. I'm glad to hear from you. Everything…everything _is _all right?" She repeated, and Loki shook his head and then realized she couldn't see it.

"You needn't fret over me. I have had – an eventful week. I feel a bit ashamed of myself, to tell the truth, that I haven't spoken to you before now."

"Oh, pish," said Ms. Fairfax. He could almost hear her smiling, and he missed her, suddenly, with a force that almost took his breath away – but it wasn't her, not really. Frigga. He missed Frigga, missed his mother (not his mother) and wanted to be held and comforted and soothed (pathetic, pathetic, pathetic)- "I'm glad you called, Luke."

"Tell me," he said, struggling to keep his voice even, not to give away the sudden wash of emotion that had swamped him. "Tell me what's been going on with you and Angela…"

He let her talk. Just listened, silent, murmuring agreement or encouragement in the right places, and let the burning need slowly ebb away until it was no more than an ache, a wound closed if not healed.

"I have to go, Luke," she said, gently. "I'm about to fall asleep on my feet…but you know you can call. Or write. I'll always be grateful to you for protecting my Angela."

The words burst out of him before he could hold them back. "You are better than I deserve."

Her silence was baffled. "What?"

"I am not – I am not a good person, Ms. Fairfax. I am – I have done…" He cut off before his voice betrayed him.

"Luke," Ms. Fairfax said, her voice almost stern. "Stop that. Everyone's done something. And anyway – life isn't about _deserving._"

"What _is _it about, then?" Loki demanded. Ms. Fairfax hesitated, and then laughed.

"That's a bigger question than I know how to answer, Luke."

He let her go, feeling drained of energy as though he'd been casting for hours. Loki crawled under his blankets and curled up, closed his eyes and fell into a quiet sleep that was, for once, untroubled by dreams.

**Interlude (XVI)**

No employment materialized that day, or the next, and Loki began to be troubled by something else. A sensation in his throat, unfamiliar and unpleasant, and persistent fatigue that weighed his limbs down. Given that his sleep was seldom restful, that would not have surprised him, if it weren't…new.

It did not, however, seem to have a physical source he could identify.

On top of that, then, it didn't take him long to find that the city he'd chosen was not terribly pleasant, and there was a definite lack of immediate prospects for financial resources. And then Loki realized that he was being followed.

He also, fortunately, realized before he reacted as he normally would have, that it was by the child he had encountered previously.

Because the boy was harmless, Loki let it alone for a long while, but there was only so long he could pretend not to notice his small shadow before he had to stop and turn. "Boy," he said, mildly, "if you want not to be spotted by me, you shall have to be a great deal more careful than you have been."

Nothing, for a moment, and then the scrawny child slunk out from behind a garbage can. He was not an attractive child, gangly, his eyes bugging slightly out of his head. "I thought I was being pretty sneaky," he said. His expression seemed to be what he thought contrition ought to look like. Loki felt his lips twitch and fought the urge.

"Not exactly."

"You don't seem mad." Carl, Loki remembered. Carl looked cautiously hopeful. Loki wanted to sigh. The boy seemed to have imprinted on him, for some reason, and he had not the least idea how to make him leave. Well, other than by force, but he was – unwilling, for the moment, to employ that.

"Haven't you others to follow around?"

"My mom works," Carl said, easily. "And my dad's gone. And you're interesting."

"Am I." Loki tried to summon something other than mild and exasperated amusement, and couldn't quite find it.

"Uh huh." Carl's eyes were wide and serious. "Whatever you did to make the guys go away, they don't bother me no more. Was it magic? Are you a mutant?" The boy sounded curious enough that Loki's initial reaction to want to bristle faded quickly.

"No," Loki said, and then added, "and it was not magic."

Carl looked determined. "So it's _secret _magic." Loki frowned at his determination, and then reached out with a tendril of magic, but it found no echo. The boy had no ability. Simply an ordinary, persistent mortal boy.

(One perhaps made vulnerable just by your talking to him.)

"Don't follow me," Loki said, his voice turning slightly harsh. "It's unwise, and I don't want you tagging at my heels."

Carl looked hurt as he took a step back, but he didn't leave. "Why is it unwise? Are there evil wizards chasing you?"

Loki was suddenly torn between conflicting urges to laugh and weep. "Yes," he said, on a sudden impulse. "Something like that. So you should-"

Carl's eyes bugged eagerly, and Loki knew at once that he had miscalculated. "But I can help!" he exclaimed. "I can – help you hide, and tell everyone you're my mum's new boyfriend or-"

"No," Loki said at once, appalled.

"Or my new homeschooling teacher!" Carl sounded inspired. "I bet you're smart, right? You could teach me things. Not _magic _necessarily, it would have to be other things too like math and science and reading but-"

"Absolutely not," Loki said, firmly.

"I can take care of myself," Carl said stubbornly. "And I _want _to help! Everything's so boring around here, there's never anything exciting-"

"You'd best hope it remains that way." Loki took a step back, feeling strangely jittery, suddenly. "Keep your distance from me, boy. And don't follow me."

"I can keep a secret!" Carl said plaintively, but Loki turned his back and started walking. He felt odd. There was a raspiness in his throat that he didn't like, and his head felt oddly fuzzy. _Go rest, _he thought. _You can go back to searching for employment later. _He took a deep breath. _It's not you I don't trust, _Loki thought vaguely, but it was, or that too. "I'll prove it!" Carl called after him. "Okay? I will!"

A shiver of foreboding ran down Loki's spine. Or maybe it was just a shiver.

It really did seem terribly cold all of a sudden.

_What are you going to do about that boy? He's a risk to you._ He could just move on. Find another place to land, again. There was no real reason not to. _Didn't you say you wouldn't become sentimental this time? Didn't you say that you would remember to keep your distance?_

And so he would. After a rest. Just a brief one.


	17. Chapter 17

****_Author's Note: oh my god I'm so sorry. I mean! I was out of the country for six weeks, but that is not really a very good excuse and I am very, very, very sorry. It should get better from here on out. Really. I mean it. D:_

_This chapter (and the next) are kind of filler as far as the plot goes, but they are nonetheless important to me because of character/relationship development, which is kind of what I'm actually writing this fic for. So sue me. To those of you still with me after the delay: you're awesome, I love you._

_And with much, much love and gratitude to my eternally amazing beta, zaataronpita._

_also, as a side note: I have been posting explicit fic/a few other things exclusively at AO3 or on my tumblr; if you're really invested in keeping up with everything I write, AO3 is probably the best way to do it. _

* * *

Despite Natasha's dire words, things seemed to settle relatively quickly. She stayed out of sight for a bit longer. SHIELD didn't summon him, and he occupied himself playing solitaire on his kitchen table and following links on the Wikipedia website. His phone rang twice. Both times it was Stark.

Loki didn't bother to pick up.

The third time, he did listen to the voicemail.

"_Okay, okay, so you're pissed,_" said Stark's familiar, somewhat grating voice. "_I get that. Well, sort of. I mean, I'm not exactly clear on – you know what? Never mind. I've changed my mind, bad idea. Change of subject. How do you feel about expensive wines? You seem like the kind of guy that'd be into that. Box of chocolates? Bouquet of flowers?" _

Loki did not let his mouth twitch, even if there was no one there to see.

"_Okay, so. Take two. You, me, nice restaurant, bottle of wine. I'm not going to grovel cause I'm _really _awful at groveling but this is almost an apology. Don't tell anyone. I promise I'll play nice. Pinky swear, honestly."_

Another pause.

"_Seriously, though. Tasha told me what happened. Not too shabby, Secret Agent Man. Thoughts on the wine offer? Let me 've got a brain I'd love to pick. Stay glam rock, kid." _The message clicked, and Loki lowered it slowly from his ear.

The man was insufferable, rude, and inconsiderate. He'd pried and poked at Loki's personal matters for no other reason than his base curiosity, saw in him little more than a puzzle to be solved by his admittedly quick mind. They had not gotten along. Was this simply an attempt to pry more information free to satisfy his curiosity?

Perhaps.

But not, he thought, likely. At the very least, Stark was…interesting, and he was likely to run into the man again. They might as well be…civil.

After a long consideration, he called the number. Stark picked up after two rings.

"Pepper told me I was delusional, but I was pretty sure at least you'd go for the expensive wine," he said. Loki was almost tempted to change his mind, but he pushed down the urge.

"You are delusional," he said mildly. "Every so often even a madman can be right."

"Ouch," Stark said, but he didn't sound terribly bothered. "Harsh. So this is a yes, right? Tell me it's a yes. I don't do phone breakups, just a bad idea all around."

"For the wine, Stark. Not the company." Loki caught himself tapping his fingers in an anxious rhythm on the bookshelf and pulled them away. "I hope you have a place in mind."

"_Do _I. You'd better be impressed. How are you feeling about the box of chocolates, cause I was only half joking…"

"The location, Stark."

Stark snickered. "How about you just meet me at my place? It's a nice one, you'll remember. Easily recognizable. Take you out in one of my convertibles, we'll make a whole thing, be like a date." Loki simply waited in silence. "No dice? Okay, okay…the place is _Chateau Beauchamp – _I know, I know – and I guess I'll be meeting you there at…how's seven?"

"Perfectly acceptable." Loki paused a moment. "Do be punctual. I dislike lateness."

"Yes, dear," Stark said, sounding like he was trying not to grin. "Is there anything you don't dislike, I'm starting to wonder-"

"Seven o'clock, Stark," Loki said, and hung up, though he could feel the corners of his mouth again unwillingly trying to twitch.

~.~

Stark was on time, to Loki's surprise. "So I decided to pass on the flowers," he said, by way of greeting.

"A good choice, I think," Loki said mildly. "I doubt I would be impressed."

"Tough audience," Stark observed, and offered a flourishing bow that was improper etiquette on a number of levels. "So, my liege-"

"Please," Loki said dryly. "Don't bother, Stark. I don't particularly need to see you humilate yourself."

"But it's one of the things I do best," Stark said, with a slightly sharp grin, and Loki simply arched his eyebrows.

"I'm sure it is."

The place itself was…fine enough. They were seated promptly at a quiet table, a bit away from others. Loki wondered, briefly, if any of them were watchers, then dismissed the concern. Nonetheless, he erected an auditory barrier around them, just in case. Stark rocked his chair back on two legs, let it fall to four again, and put his elbows on the table.

"Gotta say," he said, "I wasn't really expecting you to call. Get pretty bored on your days off, huh?"

"You made enough of a fool of yourself that I thought you deserved something." He gave Stark his friendliest smile. Stark made a face.

"Ouch. But okay, fair enough." Stark sat back again, drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't suppose you'd feel more like answering my overly personal questions now, would-"

"No."

"Yeah, I thought that might be the case. Well, at any rate…you know what kind of wines you like? Secret: I'm actually more of a hard liquor kind of guy, so if you want to pick a bottle…"

Loki settled back, keeping his amiable smile. "I'd like to try a few."

"Glasses? Sure, don't see why…"

"Bottles," Loki corrected, and the look Stark gave him was mildly gratifying.

"If you get schwasted, I'm not driving you home," Stark said, after a moment's pause.

"I manage my own transportation, remember?" Loki smiled. "You made the offer, Stark."

"And now you're making sure I'm going to pay for it." Stark raised his eyebrows. "That's a little vindictive."

"I've been called such," Loki murmured pleasantly, and flipped the menu closed, dropping the auditory barrier as he saw a waiter approach. He made his requests without glancing at Stark's face, added a platter of cheeses, and dismissed the server before resurrecting their bubble of privacy.

"Huh," Stark said, not looking terribly perturbed. "Fair warning, when this comes up on my statements I'm going to tell Pepper to yell at _you, _all right?"

"I'm sure I will bear such a punishment with fortitude."

"Yeah, I bet." Stark drummed his fingers on the table, an anxious movement passed off as restlessness. "Can I ask…"

"Probably not," Loki said, almost automatically.

"—really? I know a lot of touchy people, but you're still coming out ahead." Stark sounded mildly peeved, and Loki focused his gaze on him again.

"I am somewhat averse to personal questions."

"What about impersonal ones?" Stark countered, and Loki considered him coolly. Stark held up both hands in a defensive gesture. "You going to keep giving me the stinkeye? All right, yeah, I antagonized you, mostly on purpose. It's kind of what I'm good at. And it's also – uh – magic and _god _that word makes me wince freaks me out. Apparently. Which I didn't know because I kind of figured it wasn't _real…_"

Loki leaned his chin on his hands. "I frightened you."

Stark shot him a sharp look. "Hey now, don't go jumping that far-"

"You don't like the word choice, but the sentiment is accurate," Loki said. "You are accustomed to a world you can understand and pick apart, dissect into its components. I did not make that easy for you."

"What is this, psychoanalysis hour?" Loki shrugged. "—no wonder you and Natasha get along. Peas in a creepy pod." Stark rolled his shoulders. "All right. Maybe I was a little _unnerved. _You can't _really _blame me for that."

"Nor do I intend to." Loki sat back. The look Stark gave him was severely skeptical.

"Glad to hear it."

Loki caught their waiter returning out of the corner of his eye and didn't bother to drop the barrier, simply dropping the conversation as their food and drink was set out in a neat, aesthetically pleasing array. Loki began with a half-glass of the white, keeping his eyes on Stark as he took a delicate sip. After a moment, Stark poured himself a glass of the same.

"How is it?" He asked. Loki half closed his eyes and considered.

"Fair," he said, finally. "A bit dry for me. But that may merely be personal preference." He found his tongue suddenly craving Asgard's mulled wine, sweeter and with the tang of spice. And stronger. He pushed the desire away. "We shall see if it improves with further tasting."

"Most things do," Stark said, philosophically, and then sat back himself. "So, where did we land on impersonal questions?"

Loki was tempted to deny him, half on principle, half out of reflex. "Impersonal questions regarding…"

"Your…uh, magic." Stark's nose wrinkled slightly just saying the words. "I haven't given up on trying to figure out how it works."

"I thought it made you uncomfortable," Loki said, mildly, keeping his expression neutral, but he felt again that curious prickle that he'd first had with the technicians at SHIELD. Real, genuine interest, not just in how his skill was useful when it was needed, but in the thing itself, the very curiosity that had drawn him so powerfully to magecraft all along.

Stark shrugged. "Yeah, well – I don't like being uncomfortable. Best way get not uncomfortable is to make it make sense, so…"

"And if you cannot…make it make sense?" Loki had another swallow of the wine.

"I will." Loki wasn't sure, still, if Stark's confidence was entertaining or grating, Perhaps a bit of both. He considered the man a few moments longer, but in truth he already knew his answer.

"Ask away," he said, after a moment, tilting his glass in Stark's direction. "Let us see if I can satisfy your curiosity."

The man's eyes brightened with eagerness. "So," Stark said at once, leaning forward across the table. "I was thinking about your teleportation thingy. Is there some kind of – uh, magic notation that your people use to record things like that? Like…how to do them, how they work…"

Loki frowned, very slightly. "Magic notation? No. I don't know what…" He stopped, frowning. "Ah…hm. Wait. There is…" He flipped through his memory, thinking back. He could just catch Stark's expression, eager and intently curious. It made him…warm, slightly. "One author," he said, finally. "A long while ago…he wrote a treatise on the nature and form of magic. He was studying the – methods of transportation not entirely like mine-" he just managed not to say Bifrost – "-but I suppose…what you want are equations. Mathematics."

"Yes," Stark said at once. "Exactly."

"That is not what I have." Loki sat back and examined Stark, thoughtfully. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Stark's gaze didn't waver. He played a buffoon well, Loki thought idly, but there was a keen mind there for all that. "I like knowing things. Even if I can't use it – having things out there I don't get bugs me. If what you're talking about isn't math, then what…"

"Have you something to write on?" Loki interrupted.

"Just the napkins," he said, after a moment. "And one of my phones, you can write on that…"

"No," Loki said, reaching for his magic and summoning a pen from a nearby waiter's pocket, pulling a napkin to him. "It would not have the symbols I need." He started writing, trying to recall perfectly the page. He'd found it fascinating at the time, tried to apply some of it to his own work, but crucial parts of the treatise had never been finished. Still, he wondered if… "Your idea of mathematics is not identical to mine," he said while he wrote. "I have done some – limited – study of your variety, but it suffers, still, from limitations."

Stark shook his head. "What limitations? That's what doesn't make sense. It's math. It works the same no matter where you go-"

"You're missing variables." Loki scrawled, frowned, scribbled a bit out and wrote it again. "Factors you aren't aware of and can't measure. Yet," he added, with a touch of generosity.

"Yet," Stark said. "But we could at some point."

"Perhaps. I know not." Loki added a last few marks, and pushed the napkin back across the table. "There. That is what…essentially…what I do would look like in the form of what you might call an equation."

Stark pulled it towards him and swiveled it around. His eyes flicked over it, a frown forming between his eyebrows. "This looks like gibberish."

Loki shrugged. "In one sense, it is, to you. Your mathematics has a language, yes? This is the same language. You have been reading children's tales. I have just written you an epic." He extended a hand. "I did not truly think it would be of use to y-"

"Did I say I was going to give it back?" Stark interrupted, and Loki narrowed his eyes. The man's focus was intent, intense. "On the one hand, _ouch. _On the other, okay, well, I can learn. Translate. Make it make sense."

"You can't use it," Loki said, feeling a small prickle on the back of his neck, though he wasn't sure what for.

"I don't need to use it. I just need to know how it works." Stark looked up and jabbed a finger in Loki's direction. "Go ahead. Tell me it's impossible."

Loki let his eyebrows lift. "I would not necessarily claim 'impossible.' Certainly improbable."

"Close enough. That's what I do, Mr. Silver. The impossible. Or – improbable, that works too." He tapped a finger on the napkin. "I don't speak metaphor. I do speak this. Or give me a week and I will."

Loki sat back slowly. He picked up his wine glass and took a slow sip, taking the moment to think. He hadn't expected…he watched Stark over the rim of his glass. The man raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"You are an interesting creature, Mr. Stark." Loki rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers.

"Creature." Stark made a face. "I don't know that I like that one. Gotten a lot of epithets, but that one's new." Loki gave him a slender smile.

"Curiously apt, however."

"Do you _ever _turn off the bitchy? Don't answer that. I hope that means you like me." Stark smiled that absurd grin again. Loki let his expression remain placid.

"I have not made up my mind yet. Further consideration will tell."

"Well, I'm waiting with bated breath." This time Loki did not restrain the slight flicker of a smile. "A_ha_!" Stark grinned, abruptly. "So your face _does _have another setting. Good to know. But hey, I'm interesting." That too-innocent expression of charm was back. "Should've warned you I'm irresistible."

"Will that be all in the way of your questions, then?" Loki asked, perhaps a touch dryly.

"Oh no," Stark said, starting to grin. "You accepted the apology. I haven't even started to pick your brain. You like nice wine? I can do nice wine. I can do _lots _of bribes. Whatever the hell you are, you and me are going to have lots to talk about."

Loki ran a finger around the rim of his wine glass. "Is this a bribe?"

"Oh, yeah," Stark said easily. "Definitely a bribe. Is it working?" His smile was rakish, charming, and aware of both qualities. The man was a liar, Loki thought. All of this a deliberately constructed persona. Curious.

He leaned back, and plucked up his glass. "It might be," he said, with a slight smile. "Perhaps another few glasses of wine will do it?"

"I like the way you think," Stark said with a broad grin, and uncorked the next bottle. "You first?"

~.~

Loki left Stark with a slightly higher esteem for the man and a pleasant warmth in his blood. He gave him no promises but let him assume they would speak again. "If you ever feel like freelance work," Stark said, at one point, to which Loki had just smiled.

Curiously restless, he spent the rest of the night alternately pacing through his apartment and attempting to read (a text on one of the myriad human languages) with moderate success. As the night gave way to morning without a summons to a mission, Loki realized what it was that was nagging at him.

_If you felt like coming around. _

Jane Foster's…invitation. It had been some time since it had been issued, of course – if it even had been a sincere offer – but…perhaps it was talking to Stark, another clever human mind, that put the thought back in his head. Of course there was no real reason to go.

_She wants to repair the Bifrost. That concerns you. _If she managed to mend the bridge, or even to hasten its repair…the first one across would be Thor. And if Thor found him…

There was another reason, quieter, that convinced him to gather his magic and twist himself through space to the location of Foster's lab. Even if she wasn't the only one to know who he was, there was a kind of – relief, in not having to pretend. She didn't expect him to. She knew who he was, she knew where they stood, and there was something…pleasant about not having to act otherwise.

He appeared just inside a doorway and followed the humming of machines down the hallway to another locked room. It was child's play to click the lock open and let himself in. "Hey Jane," called an unfamiliar voice, not Foster's. "Did you remember to stop and grab me some fruit sn- whoa. You're not Jane."

Loki raised his eyebrows at the girl sitting with her feet propped up on a desk, one bud of headphones dangling from her fingers. He took a moment trying to place her and could not quite manage it. "No," he said, "I am not. My apologies."

The frankly appraising look the young woman gave him almost made Loki want to twitch. He had been so obviously ogled before, but not for a while. Then she frowned a little. "So…who are you?"

_I could ask the same of you, _Loki wanted to say, but kept himself to a simple, "Miss Foster invited me to observe."

"_Doctor _Foster," the girl said. "Geez. So you're one of those people?" The way she said it suggested dislike, so Loki simply looked at her until she glanced away, twirling her headphones between her fingers for a moment before looking back at him. "Right. I'm _Doctor _Foster's assistant. Darcy Lewis. And you're…"

Loki heard approaching footsteps and turned in lieu of answering, a moment before the door opened and Foster entered, carrying a pile of bags slightly too large for her arms. "Hey, assistant, if you felt like _helping…_"

"Let me," Loki said smoothly, and plucked two bags from her pile to set them on a bare counter. Foster fell still for a moment, exhaled what sounded a little like a mutter of annoyance, and plopped the remainder of her burden on the same counter. The girl – Darcy – stayed where she was, watching them both with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Hey, Jane," she said, after a moment. "We got a visitor."

Foster squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, not looking in Loki's direction. "Yes, I noticed. Darcy, this is…" she paused, for a long moment, and then glanced at Loki. Loki looked back at her, his expression blank. "…Luke Silver. He's…"

"As I said," Loki cut in smoothly as Foster fumbled again. "Observing." Darcy looked back and forth between them, her eyebrows rising slowly.

"Uh huh." Her expression held, for a moment, and then she waggled her eyebrows exaggeratedly. Loki felt the corner of his mouth twitch and didn't let it do more than that.

Foster looked torn between laughing and scowling. "Darcy…"

"Right, right, I'm out," she said, and grabbed a colorful box out of the bags before exiting with one last glance over her shoulder and a, "if you decide you don't want him can you give me his phone number?"

The door clicked closed behind her. Foster's face was bright red and she looked faintly exasperated. "I really would rather you called instead of just showing up," she said, after a moment. "It's not a great day."

"Oh dear," Loki drawled, and the look Foster gave him was withering. He gestured to the door. "Who is she? If you'll pardon my saying so, she doesn't seem particularly…"

Foster's expression turned stubborn and a little tight. "If that sentence is going to end how I think it is, don't bother finishing it. Darcy's a good friend of mine. I couldn't pull off a lot of what I do without her."

"I meant no offense," Loki said mildly. The look Foster gave him at that was even more withering, and then she turned away and walked over to one of the computers, tapping a few keys. He watched her back for a few moments, noting her tension. "You said it was 'not a great day.' Why is that? Things not working as you would like them to?"

"If you're just going to stand there and snipe you can leave," Foster said, a little snappishly.

"I'll take that as a yes." Loki took a step nearer her and she turned around sharply. He held up both hands. "Perhaps I might be helpful."

Foster's look in his direction was flat and then she turned back and started unloading the bags. "Cause you wouldn't be inclined to sabotage my project at all."

Loki kept his mouth from twitching and suppressed the murmur of _she does have a point _that had a distinctly amused flavor. "Seeing as I doubt your success in the first place…and if you are so disinclined to let me be useful, I fail to see why you would invite me in the first place."

"Firstly, I didn't think you'd actually show up," Foster muttered, and Loki felt his eyebrows jump, a peculiar twist in his gut.

"Then I am terribly sorry to have upset your plans," he said, hearing the cool note in his voice and trying to manage that as well, with a touch of displeasure. What was it about being around _her _that made all of his control so…_tenuous? _The reminders she brought with her, no doubt. Memories of… "I shall not linger." He turned, deliberately not picking at the feeling too much like disappointment in his chest.

"Wait," Foster said, and then made an exasperated noise. "—sorry. I did say you could come. Just – got a few rounds of bad news today." She leaned against the counter for a moment, then straightened. "And unless you've got some serious computer programming experience…"

Loki blinked slightly at her apology, unexpected, and stopped. He looked at her back for a few moments, and then tipped his head back. "What do you need the programming expertise for?"

She turned around, gave him an odd look, and then shook her head. "—right, sorry, that's just a little…surreal. It's a…the program I've been using was working well enough, but for what I'm doing now it's not quite hefty enough. I don't have the funding for the materials I'd like and trying to expand the current program to work the parameters I need it to work with, but…" She made a face.

"Unsurprising," Loki said. She gave him a sharp look, and he shrugged. "Well, it is. Attempting to study and examine the Bifrost with human machinery is one thing. Attempting to rebuild it is quite another."

Foster crossed her arms. "All right. If you had my limitations, what would you do?"

"I thought I was likely to sabotage your work," Loki said mildly. Foster just looked at him for a moment.

"It's not like I've gotten far enough for there to be something to sabotage," she said, finally, with a little sigh. "So...besides. I'm just asking a question, at this point."

"Hypothetically?" Foster nodded, and Loki gave her a very slight smile. "I wouldn't." She made an exasperated noise. "Even had I the desire to," Loki went on, "I told you before. You cannot do what you propose."

Foster crossed her arms and met his gaze directly. "Then why are you here? Just to watch me fail?"

Loki kept his expression deliberately neutral. "I'm curious to see how you attempt the impossible." Jane snorted, and he started, a little, and then narrowed his eyes. "Something is amusing?"

"You are," Foster said, plainly, and turned away to fiddle with one of her machines. "I mean, you've got this whole schtick going, but anyone can see you're just dying of curiosity." Loki felt his mouth twist toward a scowl, and controlled it. Foster crossed the room and plopped down on one of the chairs. "If I pull it off, what're you going to do?"

Loki felt himself tense. "Why do you ask?"

"Curious," she said, simply. Loki looked at her flatly for a long few moments and then rolled his shoulders back and paced across the room to claim another seat.

"Find somewhere else," he said, finally, and let a smile stretch his face. "I am very good at not being found."

Foster frowned, looking a little like she wanted to say something. He waited for it, but she seemed to decide not to go with her first thought. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I have a feeling you will ask me whatever you like," Loki said coolly. Foster eyed him.

"All right, fine," she said. "You said no one on…Asgard…knew you were here." Loki felt his muscles coil tight and forced them to relax, inclining his head a fraction in acknowledgment. "Where do they think you are?"

Loki considered her. He felt suddenly brittle. "I didn't come here to talk about myself," he said, a little sharply. He wondered what they did think? With luck, they considered him dead. No doubt there had been feasts of celebration, of _relief. _Or perhaps they thought he lived still, falling interminably between the branches of Yggdrasil, into nothing.

"I was just wondering," Foster said, after a moment, and then shook her head. "All right, fine. I'll leave that alone." She pushed back and stood up, pacing over to a cabinet. "So if you didn't come here to talk about yourself, then are you at least going to make yourself useful?"

"I suppose that depends on what sort of useful you mean," Loki said, calming himself. Foster pulled out a sheaf of papers and dropped it on the table, and then sat down again, her gaze intent.

"You can start," she told him, "by telling me everything you know about the Einstein-Rosen bridge, Bifrost, whichever. How was it made the first time?"

"There are no records," Loki said, glancing only briefly at the stack of papers. "I looked," he added, in case she thought to doubt it. "The most given on the subject is a few lines in what is more mythology than history or magecraft."

"I said everything," Foster said, her eyes a little bright. "Mythology counts." She clicked the back end of a pen on the table and grabbed a sheet of paper. "All right. Go." Stubborn woman. Almost arrogant, in her assumption that he would tell her anything, let alone the truth.

_If you stay silent, she'll lose interest, and you'll lose the ability to keep track of her progress – and impede it if necessary. And it's hardly as though she'll be able to do anything with a few scraps of information. _Loki drummed his fingers on the table, and began, after a moment, to talk.

~.~

He broke off with a startled blink when the door opened to a loud, "I brought doughnuts – you're still here?" Loki noticed vaguely that both he and Foster swiveled around in unison to stare at Darcy, who stared back for a moment before shaking her head. "Okay," she said, and then held out the brightly colored box in her hands. "Doughnut?"

Loki shook himself and glanced back at Jane. She looked a little dazed too. How long had he been- "Beg pardon," he said, and stood up quickly. "I should be going." With the exception of a few clarifying questions, he realized, Foster had just let him…talk. For an hour, perhaps, maybe more, and now she was looking at him with a curious expression on her face.

"Right," she said, a bit belatedly, standing up as well. "Sorry, I didn't mean to – um, keep you." She glanced at Darcy, who was eying them with naked interest. "Given…given what we've been discussing, I have a few papers I'd like you to look at."

_Say no, _the sensible voice in Loki's mind urged. "I don't see why not," his treacherous mouth said. "Perhaps – Wednesday?"

"Works for me," Foster said, and Loki took a step back and then turned to move around Darcy, inclining his head a fraction in her direction.

"Then I shall consider it an appointment," he said, and hastened out the door, just overhearing Darcy's, "so I guess all physicists are weird" before he transported himself back to his apartment.

"What are you doing," he murmured to himself. Was he just going to spill all his secrets to her? This went beyond keeping an eye on her progress. _Do you want the bridge rebuilt? _

Or was it just as with Stark – she listened. She was interested in the knowledge he had to share. Did he think, somehow, that she would be a friend, if he gave her what she wanted?

His head ached. He rubbed his own temples.

Well. He would see her again on Wednesday. And would not be a fool, then.

**Interlude (XVII)**

Loki woke with his head pounding and his stomach attempting to invert itself. He stumbled to the toilet in the room he was renting and vomited violently, but little came up but thin bile. His appetite the night before had been poor, and he'd eaten only sparsely.

Well, he felt wretched now. Something he'd eaten? Loki hauled himself to his feet and drank several mouthfuls from the sink, spat until the taste in his mouth cleared somewhat, and looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked wretched too, Loki noted. Pale, dark circles around his eyes, and his hair seemed lank and stuck to his head, a faint sheen of sweat gleaming on his skin. He looked…sick, Loki realized. But that was absurd, it had been years since his days of sickliness.

Like as not, he thought with a shiver, it was simply fatigue. That, or frustration. The ease with which he'd found his first employment had given him hope that seemed to have been bitterly false. But if he was to blend in…he could not simply continue to manufacture money out of nowhere.

Loki took a deep breath, and cast a glamour on himself to mask his appearance. Whatever it was, it wouldn't do to show the world that face. For a moment, his knees wobbled and his head spun, but it passed quickly, and he straightened and turned to step out, though his stomach still felt uneasy.

He hadn't gone five blocks before Carl joined him.

"If you continue to do this I am going to haul you home by your ear and see to it that your mother knows you are tagging along after strangers," Loki said, perhaps a little shortly. Carl did not seem troubled by the threat.

"Do you know where I live?"

"I can _certainly _find out." Loki's stomach flipped, and he swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths through his nose to calm it. _Food poisoning? Perhaps. _He felt too hot, now, but he suspected removing any of his clothes would only lead him to being too cold.

"I can show you," Carl offered brightly. Loki closed his eyes. _Why me, _he wanted to ask, and also _why do you trust me? _

"You can show me. I see." He wasn't going to get anything done with the whelp tagging at his heels. Nor with his head pounding like a drum. Norns, what was the matter with him? Carl frowned up at him.

"You don't look great, Mr. Wizard."

"I appreciate the compliment," Loki said, acidly dry, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He needed to vomit again, but there was nothing but water left in him. _Was _he sick? Some Midgardian mortal affliction, some sickness he was unaccustomed to-

Thinking back, he supposed he had not felt _well _for some time, but he'd simply assumed…

The world veered alarmingly sideways. Loki caught himself on a rubbish bin and panted a few breaths. His stomach heaved anew at the smell, and he gave up and doubled over to retch on the sidewalk. Carl hung back.

"…are you okay?" he asked, sounding concerned. Loki took a deep breath through his nose, spat, and made himself straighten.

"Yes," he forced out. "I'm going back – home." Which way was it, though? He felt appallingly disoriented, too hot and too cold at the same time. And Carl was still hovering. Still- "Would you leave me _alone?_" He snapped at the child, who shied back. Loki sucked in a few breaths and took a cautious step forward.

The world reeled. His head spun. His stomach was in his throat, his head throbbed like an open wound. He tried to straighten up and take another step, stubbornly gritting his teeth.

"Mister?" Carl said, sounding worried. "I bet my house is closer, maybe you should…"

"I'm fine," he said, but his voice sounded decidedly peculiar all of a sudden. Loki turned his head to look at Carl, to reassure him, and his vision tunneled and he felt blood rush to his head in the moment before his knees buckled. _Oh no, _he thought bleakly, _how humiliating, _but did not remain conscious long enough to feel himself hit the pavement.


End file.
